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A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY 


A   MONOGRAPH 


BY 

ESME   STUART 

AUTHOR    OF  JOAN    VELLACOT,    KESTELL    OF    GREYSTONE,    ETC. 


NEW     YORK 

D.     APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1893 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED 
AT  THE  APPLETON  PRESS,  U.  S.  A. 


A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY- 


CHAPTER   I. 

LADY  MARY  MILTON  had  a  passion, — she  wished 
to  make  her  parties  as  rec/ierc/te  and  as  famous  as  were 
the  salons  of  the  ancien  regime.  She  had  taken  as 
much  pains  to  attain  this  object  as  other  women  do 
to  attain  literary  or  scholastic  fame.  She  believed 
that  she  would  have  as  much  pleasure  when  success 
crowned  her  efforts  and  her  invitation  cards  were 
looked  upon  as  real  treasures,  as  a  Girton  girl  does 
when  she  can  put  M.D.  or  D.S.  after  her  name,  or  when 
she  is  hailed  as  senior  wrangler  or  first  classic.  Let 
us,  however,  pass  over  all  the  period  of  effort,  for 
at  this  moment  Lady  Mary  Milton  had  reached  the 
desired  pinnacle.  She  was  at  the  height  of  her 
triumph ;  she  did  not  even  regret  all  she  had  gone 
through  to  reach  her  coveted  position.  It  is  super- 
fluous to  say  she  was  a  very  clever,  original  woman. 
She  was  not,  however,  as  clever  as  many  of  the 
women  who  were  invited  to  her  house,  nor  as  original 
as  several  original  London  ladies  we  could  name ; 
but  she  had  the  exact  proportion  of  originality,  clever- 

2138256 


2  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

ness,   good   and   bad   temper,   power    and   weakness, 
necessary  to  win  her  cause — and  she  had  won  it. 

Her  husband,  Frank  Milton,  Esq.,  R.A.,  was  a 
fashionable  portrait  painter.  He  was  not  a  great 
artist,  and  a  thousand  years  hence  he  would  not  be  an 
old  master  ;  his  pictures  would  be  forgotten  as  well  as 
his  sitters,  or  only  brought  out  of  dark  corners  as  bad 
examples  of  a  bad  period.  Nevertheless,  he  and  his 
generation  were  firm  friends.  He  painted  portraits 
that  were  always  pleasing;  he  put  neither  too  great 
originality  in  his  faces  or  his  technique,  but  he  held 
the  balance  equally  between  the  modern  impressionist, 
the  modern  un-impressionist,  and  the  pre-Raphaelite. 
He  easily  imbibed  ideas,  and  he  knew  human  nature 
by  instinct,  so  he  suited  his  picture  to  his  sitter — and 
what  more  was  required  of  him  ?  The  public  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  him  ;  the  public  did  not  know  why, 
neither  did  he,  but  it  was  a  fact.  The  other  artists 
laughed,  at  him  behind  his  back,  they  scorned  his 
popularity,  and  he  knew  it.  Charles  Seymour — the 
great  impressionist,  who  painted  people  as  if  seen 
through  a  London  fog,  and  landscapes  as  if  it  were 
always  evening,  and  sunshine  disgraceful — could  not 
mention  Frank  Milton's  name  without  a  muttered 
anathema.  Lighthill,  who  was  favoured  by  provincial 
lord  mayors  and  gave  equivalent  paint  for  their 
guineas,  said  that  Milton's  manner  was  execrable, 
that  his  paint  would  not  stand  the  test  of  time,  that  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  first  principles  of  art,  and  that 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  3 

the  rage  for  him  was  a  disgrace  to  society ;  but  the 
fact  remained  unquestioned — Milton  was  popular.  In 
spite  of  everybody,  society  people  would  be  painted  by 
Milton.  They  insisted  upon  it ;  they  showered  their 
guineas  on  him  ;  they  were  immortalised  in  order  of 
application  ;  they  demeaned  themselves  to  beg  that 
their  special  pictures  might  be  one  of  his  exhibited 
portraits ;  they  pressed  their  gifts  upon  him,  which 
gifts  were  delicately  hidden  bribes ;  and,  above  all, 
they  praised  his  wife  and  allowed  her  to  be  a  queen  of 
society. 

Frank  Milton  himself  was  a  thoroughly  good,  hard- 
working fellow.  There  was  no  humbug  about  him  and 
no  pretence,  but  he  could  not  help  knowing  that  he  was 
popular  and  that  he  was  rich.  He  was  sorry  the  ar- 
tistic brotherhood  thought  so  little  of  his  pictures,  but 
he  forgave  them,  for  in  his  inmost  soul  he  was  not  very 
appreciative  of  his  own  work,  still  his  style  was  liked 
by  fashionable  lar^es,  and  he  was  not  going  to  quarrel 
with  them  for  that,  not  even  for  the  sake  of  all  the 
other  artists  in  England.  The  truth  was,  he  thought 
more  of  a  word  of  praise  from  Lady  Mary's  lips  than 
of  all  the  fine  sentences  of  the  dukes  and  duchesses  in 
the  world.  If  Mary  said  his  picture  was  pretty,  he 
knew  she  meant  it;  usually  she  told  him  his  portraits 
were  made  to  order,  and  on  these  occasions  he  con- 
tented himself  with  smiling  or  asking  her  what  would 
be  the  cost  of  the  new  show  she  was  preparing  for  her 
next  triumph. 


4  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

The  two  were  a  devoted  couple — devoted  in  the 
best  sense  of  this  much-abused  word.  They  were  so 
sure  of  each  other's  affection  that,  had  some  one  come 
and  told  Milton  his  wife  had  eloped  with  the  Duke  of 
Blackwater,  he  would  have  taken  the  announcement 
quietly  and  answered  that  she  would  soon  come  back. 
Lady  Mary  had  so  many  men  friends  that  Frank  did 
not  know  them  all,  but  what  did  it  matter  ?  Mary 
might  laugh  and  talk,  and  flutter  here  and  there — she 
was  true  to  the  core,  and  Frank  knew  it.  On  his  side, 
though  he  painted  all  the  beauties  of  the  season,  he 
never  imagined  one  of  them  "came  up  to  Mary,"  and 
Mary  never  imagined  that  he  would  think  so. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  perfect  domestic  atmosphere 
that  had  made  Lady  Mary  able  to  attain  her  object. 
The  best  people  were  asked  and  came  to  her  recep- 
tions, but  also  the  best  people  had  to  be  in  some  way 
distinguished,  for  the  fashionable  artist's  wife  was 
very  dainty  in  her  choice.  The  queer  foreigners  with 
doubtful  titles  were  never  found  in  her  rooms.  The 
Bohemian  element  was  there  certainly,  but  it  was  not 
fragile  Bohemian  glass  which  she  displayed,  but  the 
glass  which,  though  it  may  look  fragile,  is  advertised 
as  unbreakable. 

We  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  all  the  guests 
who  received  the  coveted  invitation  to  No.  i  Ross 
Square  were  arrayed  in  spotless  robes,  but  at  all  events 
none  of  them  had  been  openly  talked  about — if  they 
were  erring  mortals  their  errors  were  not  notorious. 


A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY.  5 

As  to  her  person,  Lady  Mary  Milton  was  decidedly 
pretty  and  piquante,  but  everything  around  her  com- 
bined to  increase  her  charms.  Her  dresses  were  de- 
signed by  Frank,  her  hair  was  golden  and  her  eyes 
were  deep  violet.  Her  manners  were  perfect,  and 
were  inherited  as  well  as  acquired,  for  she  had  known 
good  society  from  the  time  she  first  opened  her  eyes 
on  the  wicked  world;  above  all,  these- same  good 
manners  were  not  variable  but  ingrained,  and  there- 
fore never  found  wanting. 

All  those  charms  in  the  natural  order  of  events 
would  only  have  raised  her  up  enemies  had  she  not 
possessed  yet  one  more  virtue — she  adored  her  own 
sex,  she  was  a  woman's  woman  quite  as  much  as  a 
man's  woman,  and  she  had  a  heart.  If  she  had  not 
been  born  with  the  passion  for  good  society,  she 
would  merely  have  been  a  pleasant  English  matron, 
but  as  it  was  she  reigned  as  the  favourite  of  society 
and  gave  herself  airs  in  plenty,  and  to  crown  all  it 
was  her  privilege  to  have  these  airs  respected. 

The  Miltons  lived  at  the  corner  house  of  Ross 
Square.  Just  then  it  was  a  very  fashionable  square, 
the  houses  were  difficult  to  get  hold  of,  and  though 
comparatively  small  they  were  run  after.  The  studio 
was  in  the  garden,  and  considering  the  aristocratic 
sitters  who  came  there  it  was  very  simple ;  but  it 
suited  the  fashionable  portrait  painter,  who  was  like- 
wise very  simple  in  his  tastes. 

Lady    Mary's    parties    were   never    overcrowded. 


6  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

She  was  resolute  about  this  important  item.  Her  re- 
ceptions were  not  to  be  like  the  game  of  chairs,  in 
which  there  are  always  less  chairs  than  persons,  and 
she  never  allowed  a  man  to  crowd  up  the  doorway 
vainly  seeking  a  new  position  for  his  legs  and  arms. 
The  men  and  women  who  came  to  her  house  were 
asked  there  to  talk  to  each  other,  to  amuse  each  other, 
and  to  keep  up  the  character  of  her  unique  parties ; 
if  they  failed  on  second  trial — she  was  merciful  the 
first  time  and  made  allowances  for  English  shyness — 
they  never  received,  in  spite  of  broad  hints,  another 
invitation.  Lady  Mary  could  do  this  though  no  one 
else  could  do  it.  It  is  certainly  wonderful  how  much 
can  be  done  by  a  man  or  a  woman,  if  he  or  she 
has  the  necessary  courage  of  their  firm  opinions, 
and  if  they  allow  the  world  to  hear  "a  bit  of  their 
minds." 

"  Half  the  world  wastes  its  brain  power  in  saying 
what  it  does  not  mean,"  she  would  remark;  "my  ad- 
vice is,  'say  what  you  mean  and  do  it.' " 

But  Lady  Mary's  maxims  though  good  were  not 
good  enough  for  universal  acceptance,  because  it  is 
not  only  honesty  of  speech  which  succeeds,  it  requires 
also  a  mixture  of  luck.  Mrs.  Bellew,  the  mother  of 
pretty  Miss  Bellew,  had  tried  to  imitate  all  Lady 
Mary's  ways,  and  had  failed  utterly.  Everybody  was 
offended  with  her  and  cut  her — that  was  all  she  got 
for  her  pains.  It  is  best  and  kindest  to  mention  this 
fact  at  once  for  fear  of  further  imitation  and  further 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  7 

failure,  for  to  imitate  this  fashionable  lady  without 
her  special  talents  is  to  court  disappointment. 

Lady  Mary  introduced  her  guests — when  she  did 
so  at  all — in  the  prettiest  way  imaginable;  with  a  few 
words  she  could  make  people  feel  quite  at  ease  with 
each  other,  but  that  again  was  her  special  gift  which 
we  have  tried  in  vain  to  imitate. 

The  season  was  getting  aged.  The  decorous 
squabbles  of  the  artists  had  subsided  after  an  unusual 
flood  of  adverse  criticism  by  each  other  upon  each 
other's  work,  and  the  society  parties  were  abating. 
The  fashionable  world  had  only  about  two  engage- 
ments for  the  same  evening  instead  of  three  or  four, 
and  it  was  getting  a  little  <%w/and  weary,  but  wearied 
as  it  might  be  it  could  still  find  enough  spirit  to  attend 
Lady  Mary's  last  reception.  People  could  go  there 
before  going  off  to  Mrs.  Montresor's  ball,  a  ball 
famous  for  its  strange  medley  of  guests,  but  to  which 
"every  one  went."  Those  who  came  early  to  Lady 
Mary  Milton's  reception  took  care  not  to  mention  they 
were  on  their  way  to  "  Mrs.  Montresor's  mixture." 
The  real  enjoyment  was  to  say  at  the  ball  to  certain 
people,  whom  you  knew  could  never  cross  her  thresh- 
old, that  you  had  "just  come  from  Lady  Mary  Mil- 
ton's reception."  That  was  a  real  triumph,  the 
triumph  of,  to  speak  plainly,  morality  over  immorality, 
good  over  evil,  and  therefore  it  must  be  owned  a  very 
rare  triumph,  and  one  which  has  no  written  promise 
of  immediate  success  to  rest  upon. 


8  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

Lady  Mary  had  triumphed  over  the  world,  would 
the  world  some  day  make  her  surfer  for  it  ?  This 
question  remained  to  be  answered. 

She  was  charming  on  this  particular  evening. 
Frank  Milton  had  designed  her  "  frock,"  as  his  wife 
called  what  he  styled  her  "  triumph  of  arts  and 
manufactures."  Her  thirty-five  years  did  not  make 
themselves  conspicuous,  for  she  only  allowed  twenty- 
five  out  of  the  whole  number  to  appear  before  the 
guests.  Her  hair,  arranged  artificially,  was  adorned 
with  the  smallest  and  most  delicate  wreath  of  real  ivy. 
Her  dress  was  of  a  pale  sea-green,  and  was  adorned 
also  with  natural  ivy,  causing  her  several  times  to  be 
likened  to  a  woodland  nymph.  As  to  her  stature,  she 
was  short  but  well-proportioned  ;  moreover,  she  had  by 
inheritance  beautiful  hands  and  feet.  To-night  she 
was  extremely  lively,  but  she  seldom  failed  in  this  re- 
spect for  you  never  found  Lady  Mary  running  to 
several  parties  on  one  and  the  same  evening.  She 
gave  as  an  excuse  for  her  many  refusals  that  she  only 
knew  how  to  be  brilliant  once  a  day.  She  accepted 
very  few  invitations,  and  certainly  her  popularity  was 
not  due  to  the  frequency  of  her  appearance  in  society, 
but  rather,  comet-like,  to  the  uncertainty  of  her  ap- 
pearances, and  to  the  agreeable  surprise  created  when 
her  presence  was  notified. 

This  evening  the  two  drawing-rooms  in  Ross 
Square  were  thrown  open,  and  looked  like  fairy-land. 
Flowers  and  ferns  were  mingled  together,  simplicity 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  9 

and  severe  art,  with  just  a  touch  besides  of  Eastern 
gorgeousness.  Everything  was  perfect,  neither  vul- 
gar nor  mean. 

The  special  entertainment  provided  by  her  lady- 
ship was  a  child-violinist.  He  was  to  play  two  pieces 
and  then  to  disappear.  Lady  Mary  had  a  tender 
heart,  she  did  not  like  show-children ;  but  this  infant 
prodigy  was  the  rage,  so  she  contrived  as  usual  to  use 
the  world  and  not  to  abuse  it.  These  two  pieces  she 
knew  would  have  more  success  than  if  the  child 
wearied  himself  and  his  audience  with  an  hour's  un- 
ceasing work. 

The  boy,  Hector  Prowton,  was  accompanied  by  his 
sister,  a  tall  girl  of  twenty,  dressed  in  black  silk, 
whose  sad  face  looked  out  of  keeping  with  a  lively 
party.  After  the  first  solo  was  finished  she  retired 
with  Hector  into  a  corner,  in  order  to  avoid  as  much 
as  possible  the  notice  of  the  guests. 

As  for  Lady  Mary,  she  moved  about  the  room  and 
kept  the  ball  of  amusing  conversation  gently  rolling. 
The  company  was  too  well  chosen  for  this  ball  to 
need  much  propelling  power,  indeed,  only  a  gentle 
touch  was  now  and  then  necessary  to  keep  it  in  mo- 
tion. 

Mr.  Milton  had  not  his  wife's  talent  for  society 
talk,  but  he  enjoyed  a  chat  with  anybody  and  every- 
body ;  he  did  not  put  on  the  airs  of  genius,  and  was 
happily  able  to  be  himself,  that  is,  simple  and  straight- 
forward. 


IO  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

We  shall  not  pretend  to  reproduce  the  clever  talk 
which  made  the  success  of  the  party  at  No.  i  Ross 
Square.  You  cannot  paint  a  woman's  kiss,  nor  the 
quick  blush  on  a  lovely  cheek,  nor  a  thousand  things 
in  real  life,  for  art  fails  when  she  steps  out  of  her 
province.  This  evening  there  was  a  network  of 
sparkling  repartee,  a  very  Turkey  carpet  of  rich 
thoughts  woven  with  single  threads  ;  but  there  was 
only  one  guest,  besides  the  Wunderkind's  sister,  who 
here  seemed  out  of  place— a  thread,  as  it  were,  from 
another  texture.  He  was  sitting  not  far  from  the 
musician,  and  he  had  half  a  mind  to  address  the 
silent  sister,  as  he  too  knew  no  one  in  that  gay  society 
except  Lady  Mary  herself;  but  before  he  could  do 
this  the  latter  had  come  across  the  room  bringing 
with  her,  of  course  without  apparent  purpose,  an 
elderly  man  who  was,  by  her  orders,  to  talk  to  the 
lonely  guest,  and  to  whom  she  said — 

"  May  I  introduce  Mr.  Leslie  to  you,  Colonel 
Moore?  He  has  just  come  back  from  Australia  or 
New  Zealand — which  is  it,  Mr.  Leslie  ? — and  he  is  a 
distant  cousin  of  mine.  He  knows  nothing  of  Eng- 
lish society,  so  I  told  him  to  come  and  see  it  this 
evening,  but  you  will  agree  with  me  he  is  too  late 
now  for  anything  but  the  fag-end  of  our  beau  monde." 

"But  he  will  begin  with  the  best  first,"  said  the 
Colonel,  with  a  courtly  bow  to  his  hostess ;  being 
fully  aware  that  dainty  compliments  help  much  to 
sweeten  daily  life. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  II 

"  I  only  landed  from  New  Zealand  last  night,"  said 
Brice  Leslie,  trying  to  rouse  himself. 

"  He  will  give  you  his  opinion  of  us,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  future  New  Zealander  when  found  standing 
on  the  ruins  of  London,"  said  Lady  Mary. 

"  I  was  born  an  Englishman,"  said  Leslie,  smiling, 
"and  it  is  only  about  ten  years  since  I  last  trod  Eng- 
lish soil ;  I  am  not  altogether  a  foreigner." 

"  Ten  years,  and  you  have  never  been  back  ?  "  said 
the  Colonel ;  it  seemed  to  him  a  very  long  exile. 

"  Never ;  and  even  now  I  am  enjoying  the  novel 
sensation  of  having  landed  in  England  unexpected  by 
anyone — even  by  my  own  people.  Strangely  enough 
I  was  coming  by  the  next  boat,  but  having  finished 
some  surveying  I  was  engaged  in  sooner  than  I  ex- 
pected I  took  the  ship  that  was  on  the  point  of  start- 
ing." 

"  He  never  even  telegraphed,"  added  Lady  Mary, 
"  so  he  is  experiencing  a  new  sensation.  Is  he  not  to 
be  envied  ?  How  I  wish  I  could  do  something  to 
astonish  Frank,  but  he  is  like  the  man  who  could 
never  shiver — nothing  I  do  surprises  him.  To  punish 
the  returned  prodigal  (all  Colonials  are  prodigals  of 
course)  I  invited  him  here.  It  is  strange  but  true  that 
I  recognised  a'  family  likeness  in  the  wanderer's 
face,  when  we  were  both  in  the  same  shop  this  morn- 
ing; quite  a  theatrical  scene  it  was,  '  Surely  you  are 
Brice  Leslie/  'And  are  you  Lady  Mary  Milton,  my 
long-lost  cousin  ? '  Now,  Colonel  Moore,  you  can  see 


12  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

it  all,  I  may  drop  the  curtain.  Will  you  act  the  part 
of  Telemachus  and  tell  him  about  everyone,  point  out 
what  he  is  to  admire  and  what  to  detest ;  I  must  go 
and  talk  to  my  Wunderkind's  sister.  Ah,  by  the  way, 
Mr.  Leslie,  what  do  you  think  of  that  girl  in  pink  on 
the  other  side  of  the  room  ?  If  I  remember  rightly, 
ten  years  ago  you  were  an  ardent  admirer  of  beauty." 

"  Ten  years  cures  many  foibles,"  said  Brice  Leslie 
earnestly.  In  spite  of  his  having  been  ten  years  in 
New  Zealand  there  was  nothing  colonial  in  his  manner 
unless  we  except  its  gravity.  He  was  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  with  a  fair  complexion  tanned  by  sun  and 
air.  Now  and  then  there  flitted  across  his  face  a  look 
of  keen  perception,  which  it  was  a  pleasure  to  note.  It 
had  pleased  Lady  Mary,  or,  cousin  though  he  was,  he 
would  not  have  been  at  her  reception.  His  thought- 
ful expression  was  occasionally  dispersed  by  a  sudden 
gleam  of  amusement,  which  showed  hidden  forces  at 
work,  and  which  proved  him  to  be  a  man  not  easily 
passed  over  when  once  you  had  looked  at  him. 

"  Yes ;  and  ten  years  also  gives  time  to  contract 
new  faults,"  replied  the  hostess. 

"  Have  pity  on  my  grey  hairs,"  interposed  the 
Colonel. 

"  But  really  one  of  you  must  give  me  an  opinion 
on  my  pretty  Miss  Betham — a  true  Greek  face  I  call 
it,  so  pure  and  simple." 

"  Were  the  Greeks  pure  and  simple,  Lady  Mary  ? 
I  am  merely  asking  for  information,"  said  the  Colonel. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  13 

"  She  is  very  pretty,"  said  Brice  Leslie,  but  no 
gleam  of  admiration  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Very  pretty  ?  You  men  are  past  my  comprehen- 
sion. I  gather  together  the  most  unique,  the  most 
charming  maidens  of  nineteen  for  you,  and  you  say 
'  very  pretty.' " 

"  We  say  far  more  when  the  girl  of  nineteen 
mentions  Lady  Mary,"  said  the  Colonel ;  and  Leslie 
admired  the  aplomb  of  the  grey-haired  soldier  and 
courtier. 

Lady  Mary  laughed,  she  liked  compliments  be- 
cause she  knew  exactly  what  they  were  worth, — she 
could  beat  even  the  Colonel  in  that  line  when  she 
chose. 

"  You  are  a  born  courtier,  Colonel  Moore.  By  the 
way,  do  you  know  that  Miss  Cuthbert  is  to  be  here 
this  evening  ?  She  is  late,  so  1  expect  she  has  been 
elsewhere.  I  fight  against  that  habit  and  never  give 
in  to  it." 

"  Is  Miss  Cuthbert  another  pink  beauty  of  nine- 
teen ?  "  asked  Brice  Leslie  quietly ;  that  unconscious 
irony  of  his  was  a  great  charm  in  women's  eyes. 

"  Oh  no  ;  a  woman  of  a  certain  age — say  of  my  age." 

"  Let  us  call  it  the  usual  age,  then,"  said  the 
Colonel. 

"  What  claim  has  she  on  your  notice  and  regard, 
Lady  Mary  ? "  said  Leslie,  for  he  had  quickly  found 
out  that  his  cousin  was  a  woman  who  expected  some- 
thing from  each  of  her  guests. 


!4  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  Well,  she  is — no,  I  will  not  tell  you,  you  will  see 
for  yourself.  .-  .  .  The  Wunderkind  must  wait  till  she 
comes,  for  she  adores  music." 

Lady  Mary  passed  on,  and  the  two  men  were  left 
alone  in  a  crowd. 

The  Colonel  knew  everyone,  and  the  newly-re- 
turned Englishman  knew  no  one,  but  the  Colonel  was 
a  good-natured  man  and  he  admired  the  calm  way  in 
which  the  New  Zealander  took  his  good  fortune,  so 
he  began — 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  Lady  Mary  Milton  is 
the  most  popular  hostess  in  town  ? "  Then  he  sud- 
denly broke  off.  "  Look,"  he  added,  "  there  is  Miss 
Cuthbert  coming  in.  The  deuce !  "  this  exclamation 
was  uttered  sotto  voce — "  Isn't  she  handsome  ?  " 


CHAPTER   II. 

MAGDALEN  CUTHBERT  entered  the  room  accompa- 
nied by  her  aunt,  as  Mrs.  Stewart  was  called,  though 
she  was  really  only  a  chaperon,  a  useful  person  for 
appearances,  a  mere  nobody  who  did  not  count  for 
much.  Mrs.  Stewart  had  all  the  virtues  said  to  belong 
to  a  faithful  dog ;  she  was  quite  content  to  be  nobody, 
and  she  was  nobody  when  Miss  Cuthbert  was  by. 

Lady  Mary  knew  what  she  was  about  when  she 
asked  Miss  Cuthbert  to  her  receptions.  She  knew  the 
handsome  woman  was  talked  about,  but  she  also  knew 
that  the  talk  was  not  such  as  could  close  the  doors  of 
No.  i  Ross  Square  against  her.  Further,  Lady  Mary 
did  not  even  hide  it  from  herself  or  from  Frank  that  in 
her  secret  heart  she  was  one  of  Miss  Cuthbert's  many 
admirers,  or  rather  one  of  her  few  women  admirers, 
for  the  men  were  too  many  to  count.  When  Lady 
Mary  had  told  Brice  Leslie  that  the  expected  guest 
was  of  the  same  age  as  herself,  she  had  been  lenient 
to  Magdalen  Cuthbert.  In  reality  she  was  a  woman 
just  touching  forty,  but  a  woman  is  no  older  than  she 
looks,  and  Magdalen  did  not  often  look  her  age.  At 
times  you  could  not  guess  it  at  all,  having  too  great  a 


l6  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

personality  for  the  number  of  her  years  to  be  of  much 
consequence.  The  young  girls,  pink-and-white  creat- 
ures of  eighteen  to  twenty,  did  not  much  appreciate 
the  entrance  of  Miss  Cuthbert  into  a  drawing-room. 
She  seemed  to  fill  the  place,  and  her  influence  appeared 
to  permeate  everywhere.  She  was  so  handsome  that 
mere  beauty  of  youth  or  mere  prettiness  of  feature 
faded  away  in  her  presence  and  was  as  nothing  in 
comparison,  for  besides  being  naturally  handsome 
Miss  Cuthbert  knew  how  to  dress  well;  indeed,  she 
dressed  extremely  well,  neither  in  too  old  nor  too 
young  a  style,  being  endowed  with  an  artist's  eye  as 
to  what  personally  suited  her. 

Brice  Leslie,  looking  across  the  room,  was  suddenly 
transformed  from  the  phlegmatic  New  Zealander  to  a 
human  being  with  a  new  gleam  of  interest  in  the  life 
around  him,  an  interest  previously  conspicuous  by  its 
absence.  As  he  watched  Miss  Cuthbert  closely  he 
found  it  difficult  to  describe  her  verbally  to  himself. 
He  saw  she  was  tall,  well  made,  full  in  figure,  but  so 
exquisitely  proportioned  that  the  word  stout  could  not 
be  applied  to  her ;  there  was,  however,  something  more 
than  mere  beauty  which  constituted  her  special  attrac- 
tion, and  this  something  refused  to  be  defined. 

If  a  man  happened  to  have  a  predilection  for  a  tiny 
woman,  it  was  no  use  enumerating  Miss  Cuthbert's 
charms  to  him,  for  no  amount  of  art  could  make  her 
look  small.  She  was  the  type  of  fully-developed 
womanhood.  Her  pose,  her  walk,  all  her  movements 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  ij 

were  so  graceful,  that  one  realised  without  further 
analysis  that  she  was  exactly  what  she  should  be. 
Unless  you  are  an  artist  or  a  sculptor  or  a  doctor  or 
an  anatomist,  you  do  not  dissect  a  woman's  stature, 
you  simply  comply  with  the  natural  desire  to  acknowl- 
edge perfection  wherever  and  in  whatever  form  you 
find  it.  Arrayed  in  her  low  cut  evening  dress,  Miss 
Cuthbert's  chief  beauty  was  seen  to  perfection.  Her 
head  was  perfectly  poised  on  her  rounded  throat.  It 
was  not  like  a  girl's  slender  neck  with  that  serpent- 
like  twist  so  much  admired  by  a  certain  school,  but 
the  rounded,  finely-proportioned  throat  of  a  Hebe, 
starting  from  its  base  in  one  splendid  curve  that  one 
could  mentally  trace  as  it  swept  round  the  outline  of 
her  exquisitely-shaped  head. 

Her  hair  had,  as  it  seemed,  conspired  to  repeat  the 
undulating  lines  of  the  head,  for  its  meshes  resembled 
dark  waves  in  the  act  of  turning  to  break  upon  the 
shore.  Her  eyes  were  of  a  pure  pale  blue,  but  shaded 
by  deep  brown  eyelashes  that  matched  the  colour  of 
her  hair.  This  effect  of  blue  eyes  with  rich  brown 
fringes  was  very  charming  ;  moreover,  the  rich  healthy 
complexion,  with  its  dash  of  red  colouring,  was  pecul- 
iarly striking.  Her  nose  was  straight,  her  mouth  the 
despair  of  artists ;  Miss  Cuthbert's  lips  had  once  been 
described  by  a  society  paper  as  "  a  cupid's  bow  dipped 
in  carmine,  which  when  bent  to  send  forth  its  winged 
arrows  was  sure  to  conquer."  The  description  was 
"  fine  "  but  not  true.  Her  lips  were  in  reality  rather 


!8  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

thin,  red  certainly,  but  when  at  rest  there  was  a  sad, 
severe  expression  about  the  mouth  which  did  not  alto- 
gether belong  to  a  perfect  type  of  beauty.  When, 
however,  she  suddenly  smiled  or  spoke  of  some  sub- 
ject which  pleased  her,  the  transformation  produced 
perfection.  That  smile  was  extremely  dangerous,  it 
seemed  to  lift  the  beholder  of  it  into  another  world,  it 
expressed  a  thousand  things  in  one  and  one  in  a  thou- 
sand ;  for  the  whole  face  felt  the  smile,  especially  the 
eyes,  which  sometimes  shared  the  sadness  and  severity 
of  the  mouth.  No  circumstance  could  ever  make  Miss 
Cuthbert's  eyes  anything  but  beautiful,  but  even  they 
changed  their  expression  when  "  Cupid's  bow "  was 
really  parted  by  smiles. 

Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason  that  Miss  Cuthbert 
was  not  chary  of  her  smiles  in  society,  indeed  some 
men  thought  she  was  a  perfect  woman  only  because  of 
that  smile.  You  could  find  heaps  of  handsome  women 
said  they,  but  no  one  who  could  smile  like  "  the  Mag- 
dalen," so  they  irreverently  called  her  amongst  them- 
selves with  unintentional  flippancy,  for  men's  minds 
are  shaped  after  another  pattern  to  that  of  the  other 
sex. 

Lady  Mary  Milton  admired  cleverness  wherever 
she  found  it,  and  she  admired  it  especially  in  Magdalen 
Cuthbert.  It  was  so  evident,  so  ready  for  use,  and  so 
easily  displayed,  for  she  possessed  a  memory  that 
would  have  made  her  senior  classic  had  she  chosen  to 
walk  in  academic  groves. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  ig 

We  need  not,  at  this  moment,  enumerate  the  rest 
of  Magdalen's  attractions.  She  was  a  thorough  woman 
— a  very  woman  of  women,  even  though  her  mind 
possessed  such  masculine  strength.  A  woman  should 
never  be  catalogued  like  drawing-room  furniture,  for 
she  is  the  compound,  not  only  of  a  thousand  inherited 
beauties,  but  also  of  ages  of  weakness,  and  a  mere 
catalogue  can  in  no  way  define  such  niceties. 

Brice  Leslie  was  fascinated  at  first  sight.  He  had 
gazed  at  all  Lady  Mary's  society  beauties  without 
feeling  his  pulse  beat  quicker,  or  his  eye  charmed 
above  its  normal  condition  in  their  presence;  but  the 
entrance  of  that  one  woman,  no  longer  young,  had 
roused  his  interest  and  his  curiosity.  When  at  last 
she  had  been  hidden  in  the  crowd  by  several  guests, 
Brice  turned  to  his  companion. 

"  Who  is  she  ? "  he  said  very  calmly,  secretly 
ashamed  of  feeling  excited. 

"  Well,  we  all  know  her,,  but  personally  I  can  tell 
you  very  little  about  her.  Her  father  died  some  ten 
years  ago,  he  lived  a  quiet  life,  had  a  nice  little  house 
of  his  own,  and  a  moderate  fortune.  He  much  ad- 
mired his  daughter — as  we  all  do.  Now  he  is  dead 
she  lives  in  the  same  house,  has  the  same  income,  and 
the  same  chaperon." 

"  Why  did  she  never  marry  ?  "  said  Brice  slowly ; 
he  was  afraid  of  showing  his  interest,  though  he 
wanted  to  hear  all  about  her — everything. 

"  Well,  that's  what  we  all  say,  or  we  used  to  say  it, 


2Q  A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY. 

but —  Humph,  you  are  a  newcomer,  a  New  Zealander. 
If  you  want  to  know  the  answer,  I  will  give  you  the 
best  advice  I  can.  Try  and  make  love  to  her,  and  if 
you  get  the  opportunity  make  her  an  offer.  You 
won't  be  the  first  who  has  tried — and  failed.  By  Jove, 
she's  not  a  chicken,  and  she'll  die  an  old  maid — I  call 
it  cheating  nature  of  her  rights.  Confess  you  have 
seldom  seen  a  handsomer  woman." 

"We  have  fine  specimens  in  New  Zealand,"  said 
Brice  Leslie  carelessly.  He  had  not  the  courage  to 
say,' "  Yes,  the  handsomest  woman  I  have  ever  seen, 
whatever  her  age  may  be."  Then  he  added,  "  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  all  have  failed  ?  Isn't  there — " 

"Yes,  all.  Karstairs  failed,  and  if  you  know 
Karstairs —  Ah,  I  forgot  you  have  been  an  ab- 
sentee." 

"  I  know  no  one,"  said  Brice,  this  time  almost 
coldly,  and  as  if  the  subject  of  Miss  Cuthbert  bored 
him. 

"  Karstairs  is  a  lady's-man.  His  manner  is  almost 
irresistible." 

"  But  she  resisted  ? " 

"Would  have  nothing  to  say  to  him — nothing. 
We  had  betted  on  it,  so  we  took  an  interest  in  the 
result,  you  see." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  betted  on  it." 

"  No  ?  Prudent  by  nature,  perhaps  ?  I  shall  go 
and  talk  to  her:  apart  from  bets  and  all  that,  she  is 
very  good  company.  As  to  cleverness  she  beats  Lady 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  21 

Mary  hollow,  and  the  greater  wonder  is  that  her  little 
ladyship  does  not  mind." 

"All  women  are  not  jealous  of  their  own  sex.  I 
used  to  think  so,  but  I  know  better  now.  It  is  one  of 
our  foolish  masculine  ideas." 

"  Ah — well — perhaps." 

The  Colonel,  quite  unconvinced,  stuck  an  eye- 
glass into  one  eye  and  began  to  thread  his  way 
through  the  first  drawing-room,  but  before  he  could 
accomplish  the  journey  the  child  violinist  was  led  to 
his  seat,  and  after  a  few  squeaks  from  his  instrument, 
a  few  chords  from  the  shy  sister,  the  music  began. 
The  guests  sat  down,  and  Brice  caught  sight  of  Miss 
Cuthbert  seated  between  two  small  women.  The 
smile  had  disappeared,  the  lips  were  pressed  together, 
the  eyes  had  in  them  a  far-away  expression,  and  the 
corners  of  the  mouth  showed  a  slight  droop.  To  his 
surprise  Brice  now  saw  another  woman  before  him;  he 
had  admired  the  first  Miss  Cuthbert — he  was  startled 
by  this  one.  "  One  would  say  she  has  suffered,"  he 
thought.  "  Or  is  it  simply  that  she  is  listening  to  that 
boy  ?  Shall  I  ask  for  an  introduction  ?  Perhaps  I 
had  better  not,  why  not  ?  No — yes — humbug.  A 
woman's  not  a  girl,  especially  a  woman  who  can  un- 
derstand, and  who  will  not  marry.  If  it  were  possible, 
that  is  the  woman  I  should —  Hang  it,  that  boy  will 
never  stop." 

He   took    out   his   watch.     "  If   he    stops   in    five 
minutes  I'll  get  my  cousin  to  introduce  me,  if  not — 


22  A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 

I  won't."  This  was  a  strange  compact  with  his  sec- 
ond nature,  but  not  an  unusual  one  for  a  man  to 
make. 

The  child  musician  played  on.  His  little  pale 
cheeks  flushed,  his  small  hands  moved  faster  and 
faster,  and  his  bow  seemed  to  be  an  evil  spirit  bent 
on  mischief.  His  pathetic  eyes  were  not  in  a  London 
drawing-room,  but  far  away — very  far  in  the  mysteri- 
ous realms  of  music.  He  had  played  his  best ;  it  was 
wonderful,  his  soul  had  gone  into  it — a  soul  which 
seemed  too  small  to  contain  all  his  thoughts;  it  surely 
would  break  its  bonds  and  fly  away — right  away,  but 
where  ?  Now  at  last  the  long  selection  was  drawing 
to  its  close.  It  seemed  as  if  the  furies  were  pursuing 
the  child-spirit,  but  there  was  just  a  chance  that  they 
would  be  defeated  and  that  the  little  one  would  con- 
quer. The  Erlking  would  not  get  him,  neither  would 
his  cruel  daughter  clasp  her  cold  arms  around  him. 
Suddenly  he  struck  the  last  chord,  and  it  was  one  of 
triumph  and  of  joy.  The  struggle  was  at  an  end,  and 
pale  with  emotion  the  child  moved  away  from  the 
piano. 

Brice  looked  at  his  watch,  only  one  second  was 
wanting  to  the  five-minutes'  probation. 

"The  Fates  have  it  so,"  he  said,  smiling,  ''and  for 
one  night  what  can  it  matter?"  He  rose  from  his 
seat  and  made  his  way  direct  to  Lady  Mary's  corner. 
His  determined  manner  and  straightforward  purpose 
had  attracted  Miss  Cuthbert's  attention  even  before 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  23 

Lady  Mary  came  up  to  her,  at  Brice  Leslie's  special 
request,  to  introduce  them  to  each  other. 

"  Miss  Cuthbert  will  be  charmed,  I  am  sure,"  the 
hostess  said,  and  then  turning  towards  her  friend  she 
added  :  "  Magdalen,  my  dear,  here  is  a  gentleman  who 
wishes  to  be  introduced  to  you.  A  cousin,  or  a  sort 
of  cousin  of  mine,  moreover  a  New  Zealander.  You 
like  natural  curiosities,  don't  you  ?  and  a  man  who  has 
been  away  ten  years  from  London  society  is  one  cer- 
tainly. Mr.  Leslie,  Miss  Cuthbert." 

"  I  do  feel  strangely  out  of  my  element,"  Brice 
Leslie  said,  bowing  to  her,  whilst  Lad)'  Mary  added — 

"  I  see  Miss  Cuthbert  is  still  thinking  of  my 
genius." 

Magdalen  stood  up  and  bowed.  Standing  close 
beside  each  other  they  looked  a  very  handsome  pair, 
and  some  of  Magdalen's  men  friends  noticed  the  fact, 
wondering  who  was  being  introduced  to  her,  for  evi- 
dently he  was  a  new  recruit. 

"Yes,  it  was  wonderful  for  a  child." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  pleased,"  said  Lady  Mary, 
smiling,  and  then  she  moved  away  leaving  the  two 
together. 

"  He  will  be  a  great  man,  don't  you  think  ?  "  she 
said,  turning  to  Brice,  who  saw  the  smile  had  come 
back  to  her  lips,  so  that  the  face  was  once  more 
illuminated.  Brice  was  in  secret  delight.  To  himself 
he  said :  "  I  never  met  such  a  woman  before — how 
strange  she  is  not  married  !  "  aloud  he  answered — 


24  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  I  am  not  musical,  to  me  it  seemed  as  if  the  little 
fellow  went  on  for  a  long  time ;  I  thought  he  would 
never  end." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Magdalen  Cuthbert.  Her  eyes  ex- 
pressed all  the  scorn  and  the  surprise  she  felt ;  but 
the  expression  was  only  momentary,  like  a  sudden 
overshadowing  of  the  sun  by  a  summer  cloud  ;  indeed, 
Brice  did  not  see  it,  only  he  heard  the  altered  tone  of 
her  voice.  He  was  just  then  only  conscious  that  in 
the  space  of  five  minutes  he  had  balanced  the  pros 
and  cons,  and  that  Fate — Brice  called  it  Fate — had 
decided  he  should  now  be  close  to  her,  and  that  he 
should  be  speaking  to  her. 

"  I  shall  be  very  soon  disenchanted,"  he  said  to 
himself,  for  he  did  not  believe  in  sudden  attraction  ; 
"  and  besides — " 

"  You  are  musical ;  I  hear  from  your  tone  that  you 
have  no  pity  for  a  man  who  has  none  of  the  divine 
feeling." 

"  Pity  ?  That  is  hardly  the  word.  If  he  acknowl- 
edges it  at  once,  as  you  have  done,  I  know  that  I 
need  not  waste  my  breath  in  trying  to  do  the  impos- 
sible. I  am  really  grateful  to  him.  But,  before  you 
came  up,  Austin  Dobson's  words  were  ringing  in  my 
ears." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  do  not  know  his  poems.  You  for- 
get that  I  come  from  underground  !  " 

"I  am  glad  you  do,"  she  said,  turning  a  little  to- 
wards him  and  for  the  first  time  looking  up  into  his 


A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY.  25 

face ;  "  one  gets  to  know  so  well  the  ideas  of  most 
people,  and  one  wearies  of  them  a  little."  The  smile 
that  accompanied  these  words  took  out  a  little  of 
their  sting,  but  added  somewhat  to  their  mockery. 
Suddenly  her  expression  changed  again  ;  was  there  a 
dimness  in  her  eyes  as  she  added :  "  If  you  do  not 
know  Austin  Dobson's  '  Child  Musician,'  make  haste 
and  read  it.  It  is  a  little  poem  full  of  pure  pathos  ;  I 
have  hated  to  listen  to  a  Wunderkind,  as  Lady  Mary 
calls  this  one,  ever  since  I  read  it." 

"  You  have  a  good  memory.     Will  you  say  it  ?" 

"  It  is  easy  to  remember.  I — I  am  sorry  for  it 
sometimes — some  things  run  in  one's  head  till  one 
would  beg  for  oblivion,  if  one  only  knew  whom  to 
ask." 

"  I  have  not  got  a  good  verbal  memory,  but  I  can 
minutely  remember  some  scenes  I  have  gone  through." 

Magdalen  Cuthbert  once  more  gave  him  a  quick 
glance.  Her  glance  had  nothing  coy  about  it,  she 
seemed  to  do  everything  with  a  certain  directness  of 
purpose,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  her  actions  ap- 
peared spontaneous.  This  man's  face  interested  her, 
for  she  smiled  at  his  remark.  Often  as  not  she  merely 
looked  bored  if  the  speaker  were  not  amusing. 

"  Well,  then,  perhaps  these  lines  will  run  in  your 
brain  as  they  have  done  in  mine.  By  the  way,  I  hope 
no  one  is  listening,  or  they  would  think  it  strange  to 
hear  verses  quoted  at  a  reception,  unless,  indeed,  one 
called  oneself  a  professional  reciter." 


26  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

Then  she  said  in  a  low  tone  but  speaking  with  a 
perfect  intonation — 

"  '  He  had  played  for  his  lordship's  levee, 

He  had  played  for  her  ladyship's  whim, 
Till  the  poor  little  head  was  heavy 
And  the  poor  little  brain  would  swim. 

"  And  the  face  grew  peaked  and  eerie, 

And  the  large  eyes  strange  and  bright, 

And  they  said — too  late — "  He  is  weary  ! 

He  shall  rest  for,  at  least,  to-night  !  " ' 

"  There  are  two  more  verses,  but  I  could  not  say 
them,  they  are  too  pathetic." 

"  One  can  guess  the  rest  of  the  story,"  said  Brice 
Leslie ;  "  thank  you."  She  ought  to  have  been  an 
actress,  he  thought,  as  he  looked  furtively  at  her. 
He  seemed  altogether  fascinated,  though  she  had  said 
so  few  words.  He  had  admired  the  pathos  in  her 
voice  as  she  repeated  those  few  lines,  and  the  quick 
look  of  sympathy  she  had  cast  across  the  room  to 
where  the  boy  violinist  sat  demurely  trying  to  answer 
the  foolish  remarks  of  a  guest.  Brice  was  indulging 
in  this  train  of  pleasant  thoughts,  forgetting  he  ought 
to  make  conversation,  when  suddenly  Miss  Cuthbert's 
mood  changed.  She  opened  her  large  fan  and 
laughed  gaily,  but  there  was  a  hardness  in  the  laugh 
that  immediately  grated  on  Brice  Leslie's  feelings. 
He  had  fancied  Miss  Cuthbert  was  always  as  she  had 
been  the  moment  before. 

"As  you  see  us  again  after  ten  years — by  us,  I 
mean  society — I  wonder  what  you  think  of  it  all. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  27 

The  season  is  nearly  over ;  strange  that  we  are  not 
sick  to  death  of  it,  but  somehow  we  manage  to  keep 
up  to  the  end.  We  are  in  at  the  death  and  ride  off  the 
field  with  colours  flying.  Excuse  a  double  metaphor." 

"  If  you  are  sick  to  death  of  it,  I  wonder  you  go 
on  with  it,"  said  Brice  Leslie  quietly.  His  very  tone 
seemed  in  itself  a  kind  of  reproof. 

"  Do  you  wonder  ? — I  do  not.  By  force  of  repeti- 
tion, one  gets  to  think  it  the  most  important  thing  one 
can  do.  I  know  I  do." 

"You  do!  I  should  have  thought.  ...  I  suppose 
however,  that  is  zfafon  de  parler,  and  I  am  not  clever 
enough  to  understand  you." 

"If  I  did  not  see  you  were  guiltless  of  sarcasm,  I 
should  say  you  had  just  said  a  cutting  thing  very 
neatly." 

"  I  am  afraid  ten  years  of  a  lonely  and  wandering 
life  have  not  taught  me  an  unknown  tongue.  I  never 
learnt  to  be  sarcastic." 

"  Never  ?  Well,  you  have  lost  a  good  deal  of 
pleasure." 

"  I  doubt  it — I  beg  your  pardon.  I  noticed  that 
Colonel  Moore  could  turn  off  a  compliment  out  of 
any  of  Lady  Mary  Milton's  words.  I  am  quite  un- 
equal to  the  task,  so,  of  course,  quite  unfit  for  bril- 
liant society." 

Miss  Cuthbert  turned  her  blue  eyes  upon  him 
again,  and  the  sarcasm  faded  from  her  face.  Brice 
had  a  look  which  defied  sarcasm.  He  had  known 


28  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

much  of  life,  he  was  to  know  more,  but  he  had  always 
been  entirely  in  earnest — for  the  time  at  least. 

"  I  am  very  glad.  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again ; 
perhaps  we  shall.  Lady  Mary  is  going  down  to  her 
country-house  soon,  and  she  has  asked  me  to  spend  a 
few  weeks  with  her.  I  love  the  country,  in  spite  of 
living  nearly  always  in  London." 

"  You  are  obliged  to  live  in  town  ? " 

"  Obliged,  oh  no !  I  always  go  away  after  the  sea- 
son is  over,  but  I  must  live  in  London  ;  I  should  miss 
the  constant  excitement,  the  parties,  the— the  World, 
in  fact.  One  lives  a  life  apart  here,  and  one  gets 
attached  to  it." 

Brice  Leslie  said  a  little  dreamily,  "  Ah,  yes,  per- 
haps." The  last  words  had  depressed  him.  He  hated 
women  of  this  stamp,  and  he  was  almost  glad  that  at 
that  instant  a  dashing  young  guardsman  came  up  to 
Miss  Cuthbert  and  claimed  her  attention.  Young 
men  were  always  attracted  to  her ;  she  flattered  their 
vanity,  and  possessed  the  power  to  charm  them  with 
her  varied  talk,  her  easy  flow,  her  sarcastic  remarks. 
Brice  moved  away  to  leave  his  place  to  the  younger 
man,  and  he  did  it  without  a  pang.  "  Not  the  woman 
I  took  her  for,"  he  thought.  "  Shallow,  worldly, 
everything  else  a  mere  pretence."  But  gradually  he 
found  himself  again  looking  towards  her,  watching 
how  she  left  the  guardsman  in  order  to  charm  another 
young  officer,  who  was  not  afraid  to  let  his  voice  be 
heard.  Now  and  then  Miss  Cuthbert's  answers 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  29 

reached  Leslie's  ears.  People  talk  of  balm  to  a 
wounded  spirit ;  her  remarks  were  more  like  the  appli- 
cation of  vinegar  to  a  sore,  and  Brice  Leslie  said  to 
himself —  - 

"  She  is  beautiful,  very  beautiful,  but  I  wonder 
how  I  could  for  a  moment  have  compared  her  with 
Griselda  ? " 


CHAPTER   III. 

IT  sounds  well  to  talk  with  familiarity  of  the  ways 
of  society,  but  society  is  extremely  dull  unless  you  be- 
long to  its  charmed  circle.  Brice  Leslie  found  that 
after  Miss  Cuthbert  moved  away  no  one  spoke  to  him, 
and  he  seemed  figuratively  and  literally  a  being  from 
another  world.  Presently  he  found  himself  in  Mr. 
Milton's  studio,  which  had  been  thrown  open  this  even- 
ing, but  which  had  served  chiefly  as  a  suitable  place 
for  sipping  champagne  cup  and  partaking  of  dainty 
refreshments.  It  was  a  studio  with  nooks  and  corners 
in  it,  and  having  sauntered  to  its  farthest  end,  where 
a  bank  of  flowers  had  been  artistically  arranged 
against  a  screen,  Mr.  Leslie  by  chance  found  himself 
again  face  to  face  with  Miss  Cuthbert.  She  was  in 
earnest  and  lively  conversation  with  a  barrister. 
Brice  at  once  recognised  the  man  of  law  by  the 
smooth  chin,  the  keen  eyes,  the  satirical  smile,  and 
the  look  of  cool  admiration  he  was  bestowing  on  his 
companion.  Miss  Cuthbert  was  just  then  in  a  bril- 
liant mood.  She  was  discussing  the  last  society  novel 
written  by  Grey  Maston. 

"Uncommonly  good,"  said  the  barrister;  "not  a 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  3! 

bad  picture  either  of  the  times ;  I  rather  fancy  Grey 
Maston  took  the  plot  from  a  much-talked-of  case — 
you  know  the  one  I  am  referring  to  ? " 

"Oh  yes;  Mrs.  Twinhaven's  elopement  with  Lord 
Fookes,"  said  Miss  Cuthbert  calmly.  "Do  you  re- 
member the  sensation  it  made,  Mr.  Leslie  ? "  she 
added,  turning  towards  Brice. 

To  anyone  who  knew  him  well,  which  was  not  the 
case  here,  it  would  have  been  apparent  that  his  coun- 
tenance changed,  and  that  the  studied  gravity  of  his 
answer  was  not  merely  put  on  for  the  occasion,  but 
was  the  index  of  deeper  thought. 

"  I  have  been  in  New  Zealand  for  ten  years,  so  if 
it  is  a  recent  scandal  I  am  not  likely  to  know  it." 

Miss  Cuthbert  laughed ;  her  laugh  was  peculiar 
to  herself — a  short,  dry  laugh,  and  to  Brice  it  sounded 
intensely  sad  and  shallow. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  also  a  pre-Zola  man." 

"Yes." 

Her  words  stung  him  and  so  did  the  amused  smile 
on  the  barrister's  face.  Magdalen  again  looked  up  at 
him  as  she  closed  her  fan  with  a  quick  movement  of 
impatience. 

"  I  see  you  really  are  a  revivified  primeval  man. 
You  will  have  much  to  learn  if  you  take  up  your 
quarters  in  London." 

"Miss  Cuthbert  knows  us  all  by  heart,"  said  the 
barrister.  "  She  puts  her  finger  on  all  our  failings 
and  has  no  mercy — on  man — "  Then  he  politely 
3 


32  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

gave  up  his  seat  to  Brice  Leslie  and  walked  away. 
Brice  was  angry,  so  he  still  remained  standing,  only 
he  could  not  help  looking  down  upon  that  mass  of 
beautiful  dark  wavy  hair,  and  upon  the  arch  of  the 
white  neck.  He  could  even  just  see  the  exquisite 
smile,  not  the  less  beautiful  because  it  was  now  so 
scornful.  She  spoke  first. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?'  Lady  Mary  can  do  nearly 
everything,  but  she  cannot  prevent  her  rooms  be- 
coming hot.  Here  it  is  delicious.  Unfortunately  I 
have  discovered  this  spot  just  when  it  is  nearly  time 
to  go  home." 

"  I  heard  some  one  mention  a  ball ;  are  you  going 
to  it?"  said  Leslie,  not  knowing  what  appropriate 
subject  to  talk  about. 

"I  don't  dance,  but  I  often  go  and  watch  the  fol- 
lies of  others.  So  you  do  not  read  naughty  books  ? " 

"  I  read  very  little  of  anything.  I  have  had  a  life 
of  hard  work,  an  out-of-door  life.  I  was  surveying 
for  a  company  during  most  of  the  time  I  was  out  in 
New  Zealand,  and  I  have  been  far  from  books — ex- 
cept books  in  flesh  and  blood." 

"  Were  they  exciting  ? " 

"  One  of  these  life  stories  was  a  sad  one,  and  my 
heart  was  in  it,  so  I  cannot  laugh  about  it  as  you  can 
about  scandal." 

Brice  wanted  to  punish  Miss  Cuthbert  for  some  of 
her  scornful  remarks. 

"  Oh,  you  are  going  to  be  in  earnest.     Spare  your- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  33 

self  the  trouble,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  in  London 
society." 

"  So  I  see." 

"You  are  not  a  very  discerning  man.  You  must 
learn  that  society  says, '  Then  love  me  all  in  all  or  not 
at  all.'" 

"  False,  shallow-hearted  woman,"  thought  Brice ; 
"  and  yet,  at  this  moment  she  would  make  the  fortune 
of  an  artist.  Why  on  earth  should  I  think  about 
her?"  He  looked  towards  the  opposite  end  of  the 
studio. 

"  Shall  I  take  you  back  to  the  drawing-room  ? " 
he  asked. 

Magdalen  Cuthbert  laughed. 

"  You  are  delightful.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Leslie, 
that  you  have  not  yet  concealed  one  thought  during 
your  entrance  into  this  charmed  circle  ?  You  must 
add  yourself  to  the  collection  on  the  shelf  of  living 
books  easily  studied." 

"  I  was  in  earnest  at  all  events." 

"  So  is  Zola — terribly  in  earnest,  if  that  is  all  one 
requires." 

"You  talk  lightly  of  such  things  as  elopements," 
said  Brice,  feeling  that  he  was  dashing  his  head 
against  a  wall  of  adamant,  "  but  if  you  had  known  a 
story  that  I  could  tell  you — " 

"We  know  heaps  of  them,"  laughed  Magdalen, 
flinging  her  fan  open  again.  "  I  assure  you  that  is  not 
an  original  topic,  indeed  we  have  taken  to  telling 


34  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

ghost  stories  to  vary  our  subject.  Mr.  Greg  was 
amusing  me  just  now  with  one — authentic,  of  course. 
By  the  way,  the  one  thing  a  lawyer  will  not  believe  in 
is  an  authentic  story,  but  some  of  their  divorce  trials 
are  quite  as  extraordinary  as  ghost  stories." 

Brice  Leslie  lost  all  patience  with  her. 

"  I  see  I  am  not  made  for  your  kind  of  society, 
Miss  Cuthbert.  Your  people  are  never  in  earnest.  I 
was  going  to  tell  you  that  when  I  first  went  to  New 
Zealand,  I  made  friends  with  a  man  who  in  his  own 
person  had  proved  many  of  the  ordinarily  received  no- 
tions— received  in  society,  I  mean — " 

"  Yes,  society  with  a  big,  big  S." 

Brice  did  not  notice  the  interruption,  and  Magda- 
len, accustomed  to  notice,  at  the  same  moment  re- 
sented and  admired  the  omission. 

"And  had  proved  them  to  be  false.  He  had  him- 
self acted  out  one  of  your  society  novels — 

"I  don't  write  novels." 

"And,  as  I  say,  he  had  proved  it  utterly  false." 

"You  mean,  he  said  so." 

"  No,  I  got  to  know  that  man  as  well  or  better  than 
if  he  had  been  my  brother,  and  I  know  he  would  have 
given  worlds  to  have — " 

Magdalen  laughed. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Leslie;  you  would  do  so  if  you 
only  knew  how  strange  your  words  sound  to  me.  I 
fancy  I  am  reading  a  novel  with  a  purpose." 

"  Which  would  seem  rubbish  to  you." 


A   WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


35 


Magdalen  laughed  again. 
"Certainly,"  she  said. 

Brice  Leslie  felt  inclined  to  throttle  this  splendid 
impersonification  of  heartless  scepticism.  He  threw 
all  the  scorn  he  possessed  into  his  voice.  -He  was  not 
mollified  even  by  seeing  Magdalen  rise  slowly  from 
her  bower  of  ferns  and  flowers  and  place  a  perfectly- 
shaped  arm  and  hand  upon  the  base  of  a  pure  white 
marble  Venus.  He  knew,  as  well  as  if  she  had  said 
so,  that  she  was  posing,  that  she  had  studied  that 
attitude,  and  that  she  was  well  aware  how  grand  she 
looked  with  that  expression  of  amused  scorn  flashing 
from  her  dark-fringed  blue  eyes.  But  the  man  was  not 
equal  to  the  woman  in  sang  f raid ;  he  lost  his  temper, 
or  something  like  it.  He  forgot  he  was  in  society, 
forgot  he  had  never  seen  this  society  lady  before,  for- 
got there  are  rules  of  courtesy  and  etiquette  which 
cannot  be  broken,  forgot  that  it  is  vulgar — perhaps  he 
never  knew  it — to  show  your  true  feeling,  or  to  ex- 
press a  strong  opinion  about  anything.  Brice  forgot 
all  that,  forgot  that  he  had  even  admired  her,  both  for 
her  perfection  of  form  and  for  the  depth  of  kindly 
sympathy  in  her  blue  eyes  when  she  had  looked  at  the 
tired  child  musician,  and  knitting  his  brows,  he  said 
bitterly,  being  at  this  moment  quite  off  his  guard — 

"  What  is  earnest  to  a  man  is  often  foolishness  to  a 
woman — like  you.  If  you  had  known  Percy  Chester's 
story,  you  would — " 

Brice's  sudden  anger  had  caused  him  as  he  spoke 


36  A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY. 

to  turn  half  away  from  Miss  Cuthbert;  but  an  unex- 
plainable  reason,  some  vibration  of  the  unseen  mag- 
netic current,  suddenly  and  unconsciously  caused  him 
to  turn  round  to  look  at  her.  He  stopped  short  from 
intense  surprise.  The  .woman  who  a  moment  before 
had  angered  him  was  utterly  changed.  The  daring 
scornful  look  in  her  eyes  was  replaced  by  one  of  in- 
tense agony  and  of  dumb  despair.  Her  face  had  be- 
come deadly  pale,  and  the  hand  that  held  her  fan 
trembled  visibly,  whilst  the  other  fell  as  if  powerless 
by  her  side.  At  that  instant  several  couples  came 
slowly  towards  them,  and  the  danger  of  discovery 
evidently  caused  Miss  Cuthbert,  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  to  find  words.  In  a  low,  indistinct  voice  she 
said — 

"  Give  me  your  arm,  please,  and  take  me  back  to 
the  drawing-room." 

Brice  Leslie  obeyed  in  silence.  Another  man  might 
have  talked  on  to  hide  her  confusion  or  might  lightly 
have  continued  the  story ;  but  Brice  did  neither  of 
these  things — he  did  as  she  told  him,  and  said  nothing. 
He  felt  the  weight  of  her  arm  on  his,  and  she  knew 
she  was  leaning  on  him  for  support.  He  did  not  argue 
or  wonder  to  himself  what  he  had  said  to  cause  this 
emotion,  or  what  was  the  matter  with  her.  He  was 
bewildered,  and  yet  there  seemed  to  come  over  him  a 
feeling  of  intense  sympathy  with  this  woman  whom 
three  minutes  before  he  had  almost  hated.  At  this 
instant,  if  she  had  asked  him  to  put  his  hand  into 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


37 


the  fire  for  her,  he  would  have  done  it  unquestion- 
ingly. 

Before  they  had  reached  the  small  flight  of  steps 
leading  to  the  drawing-room  Magdalen  Cuthbert 
paused. 

"  I  am  feeling  unwell.  Will  you  do  me  a  kindness  ? 
find  my  carnage  and  my  friend,  Mrs.  Stewart;  ask 
Lady  Mary  to  point  her  out  to  you  and  to  excuse  me ; 
let  no  fuss  be  made.  Can  I — yes,  I  can  trust  you." 

It  was  quite  like  Brice  Leslie  to  say  nothing,  but  to 
obey.  He  led  her  to  the  cloak-room,  then  hastened 
away  and  executed  all  her  commissions  with  wonder- 
ful tact  and  precision.  Lady  Mary  was  too  much 
engaged  with  her  guests  to  question  him,  and  Mrs. 
Stewart  was  easily  found.  Before  many  moments  had 
gone  by  he  was  again  standing  silently  by  Magdalen's 
side,  whilst  Mrs.  Stewart  filled  up  the  pause  of  silence 
by  saying  — 

"  You  have  not  got  over  your  bad  cold,  Magdalen, 
dear;  I  knew  you  would  be  tired.  How  kind  of  Mr. 
Leslie  to  see  about  our  carriage." 

Magdalen  walked  on  and  did  not  answer  till  the 
door  was  flung  open,  and  the  cool  June  air  blew  softly 
upon  them.  It  was  a  lovely  starlight  night,  such  a 
night  as  would  waft  a  poet  into  a  dream  of  bliss,  a 
young  man  into  joyful  thoughts  of  love,  a  woman  into 
a  vision-land  of  not-to-be-realised  happiness,  and  a 
child  to  heaven. 

She  paused  to  allow  Mrs.  Stewart  to  go  first ;  then 


38  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

she  loosed  Brice  Leslie's  arm,  saying  in  a  very  low 
voice — 

"  Good-night,  thank  you.  One  moment,  I  must  see 
you  again  ;  when,  where  ? " 

Brice  had  gone  through  several  phases  since  he  had 
experienced  the  renewed  feeling  of  sympathy  for  the 
beautiful  Miss  Cuthbert.  He  even  began  to  fancy  she 
was  acting  all  this  little  play  to  entice  him.  What  was 
the  matter  ?  What  had  he  said  or  done  to  excite  her  ? 
What  did  she  mean  by  all  this  piece  of  splendid  acting  ? 
Now  was  the  time  to  revenge  himself.  Partly  from 
this  feeling,  and  partly  from  a  certain  stolidity  which 
often  manifested  itself  in  him,  partly  also  because  his 
ideas  sometimes  moved  slowly,  and  that  he  was  al- 
ready reproaching  himself  for  being  where  he  was, 
he  answered  in  the  most  ordinary  and  matter-of-fact 
tone — 

"  I  cannot  say,  for  I  must  leave  town  to-morrow. 
You  see,  Miss  Cuthbert,  you  have  shown  me  how  unfit 
I  am  for  modern  society." 

The  next  moment  he  regretted  his  words,  but  it  was 
too  late.  He.  saw  Miss  Cuthbert  bite  her  lip ;  he  saw 
her  rise  to  her  full  height;  he  saw  how  she  mentally 
pulled  herself  together  and  flung  back  his  punishment 
with  supreme  scorn. 

"  On  the  contrary,  your  last  speech  shows  you  are 
well  fitted  to  crush  its  few  genuine  impulses.  Good- 
night." 

She  barely  gave  him  her  hand,  and  then  all  was 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


39 


over.  The  carriage  door  shut,  the  coachman  drove 
off,  the  footmen  closed  the  front  door,  and  Brice 
Leslie  slowly  walked  upstairs  ready  to  hate  himself 
for  his  words  and  more  for  his  actions.  Here  the 
move  was  being  made  by  the  remaining  guests,  and 
last  words  were  being  exchanged.  Brice  saw  every- 
thing as  if  he  were  in  a  London  fog;  Lady  Mary's 
sparkling  last  sallies  sounded  dull  after  Miss  Cuth- 
bert's  strong  words,  and  he  felt  like  a  despicable 
fool. 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said,  when  at  last  he  could  claim 
the  attention  of  his  hostess. 

"  No,  wait  a  moment.  The  exodus  has  begun,  but 
you  are  entitled  to  the  privilege  of  a  relation." 

He  obeyed,  he  felt  too  bewildered  to  disobey,  and 
only  woke  up  to  this  fact  when  Lady  Mary's  happy 
laugh  roused  him,  while  at  the  same  time  Mr.  Milton 
put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Well,  Leslie,  what  do  you  think  of  Mary's  party  ? 
Splendid  success.  Lady  Coombe  was  charmed,  and 
Ewart,  you  know  the  famous  Ewart,  said  it  was  the 
first  party  this  season  he  had  enjoyed.  But  it's  her 
last.  Now  for  the  country — Hampshire  and  Surrey 
lanes.  I  get  my  turn  after  Mary,  for  in  this  world  it 
generally  seems  to  be,  '  ladies  first.'  " 

"  I  like  that !  Why,  Frank,  you  enjoyed  yourself 
amazingly.  But  tell  me,  my  New  Zealander,  what  do 
you  think  of  your  return  to  civilised  life  and  to  civil- 
ised men  and  women  ? " 


40  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Brice  slowly,  and  Lady 
Mary  laughed  like  a  girl. 

"  Charming !  Your  originality  would  make  you  a 
social  success." 

"  So  you  leave  us  to-morrow  ? "  said  the  artist. 

"Yes,  I'm  going  down  home.  By  the  way,  I  have 
not  said  how  much  obliged  I  am  to  you,  and  how  kind 
I  think  it  of  you  to  have  asked  me  here  to-night." 

"  Not  at  all.  Do  you  know  that  you  made  your- 
self conspicuous  by  being  the  chosen  knight  ? " 

"  Chosen  knight !     Whose  ? " 

"  Come  now.  Don't  be  too  much  the  barbarian. 
A  mixture  of  it,  I  grant  you,  is  necessary  for  success, 
but  we  do  require  a  small  amount  of  European  cloth- 
ing on  the  fashionable  aborigines.  Don't  you  know 
that  Magdalen  Cuthbert  honoured  you  with  her  no- 
tice ? " 

"  With  some  biting  sarcasm,"  said  Brice,  but  wish- 
ing as  he  maligned  her  that  he  could  see  her  standing 
once  more  near  the  Venus  with  her  arm  on  the  marble 
pedestal. 

"  Charming  !  What  did  you  say  to  bring  it  upon 
you  ?  But  don't  be  cast  down.  I  assure  you  some  of 
the  men  prefer  her  in  that  mood.  Not  Frank,  he 
never  makes  anything  of  her,  he  is  quite  unfair  to 
her." 

"  She  poses,"  said  Mr.  Milton  slowly,  and  trying  to 
hide  a  yawn.  "  Splendid  woman,  you  know.  I'd  pay 
her  to  sit  for  me  and  all  that,  but  to  live  with.  .  .  . 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  41 

Heaven  preserve  us !  She  has  a  devil  of  a  temper, 
I'm  sure.  Those  frowns  mean  something,  or  I'm  not 
an  artist  of  the  human  face." 

"  A  woman  without  a  temper — what  is  she, 
Frank?"  retorted  his  wife.  "You  are  asking  fora 
balloon  without  gas  or  an  engine  without  steam.  You 
know  very  well  that  my  temper  helps  us  to  live  ami- 
cably together.  Well,  I  am  sorry  to  lose  you  so  soon, 
Mr.  Leslie.  Let  me  see,  what  does  your  home  consist 
of  now  ?  Your  mother  and  father  of  course,  and  how 
many  sisters  ?  You  will  only  be  about  ten  miles  from 
Rosehill,  our  country  house." 

"  I  have  but  one  sister,  who  lives  at  home  and  is 
much  taken  up  with  nursing  my  invalid  father;  my 
mother  is  dead.  If  we  are  neighbours  I  might  look 
you  up  in  the  country.  You  have  taught  me  town 
life,  let  me  learn  rural  existence  under  your  guid- 
ance." 

"  He's  getting  on,  isn't  he,  Frank  ?  By  all  means. 
Ah,  I  have  it.  You  have  heard  that  Magdalen  Cuth- 
bert  is  coming  to  stay  with  us.  Good  heavens ! 
Brice  Leslie,  don't  be  so  transparent.  I  could  have 
taught  you  better,  but  now  I'm  sleepy.  By  all  means 
come.  The  Magdalen  appears  on  the  first  of  August. 
Say  you  come  on  the  fifth." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Brice. 

"  Then  that  is  an  understood  thing.      Good-night." 

When  Brice  Leslie  was  gone  Lady  Mary  turned 
towards  her  husband. 


42 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


"  Tell  it  not  in  Gath,  Frank.  I've  taken  a  bet  that 
Magdalen  will  be  married  this  year.  Now,  don't  in- 
terfere, for  I  mean  to. succeed." 

"  What  nonsense !  Pray  don't  meddle  with  that 
woman's  affairs." 

"  What  is  more — I  fancy  this  New  Zealander  may 
be  the  man.  Wait  and  see." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MAGDALEN  CUTHBERT'S  house  was  in  Wilton 
Crescent ;  it  was  not  large  but  it  was  very  comfort- 
able, and  amply  sufficed  for  her  needs,  her  visitors 
not  being  numerous.  Her  father  had  been  an  only 
son,  and  she  was  his  only  child.  On  her  mother's  side 
she  had  one  married  aunt,  whose  children  came  occa- 
sionally to  stay  with  her.  Magdalen  was  fond  of  her 
cousins,  and  they  kindly  allowed  her  to  do  a  good 
deal  for  them ;  for  their  father,  the  Rev.  Benjamin  Wat- 
son, was  a  poor  man  and  found  his  means  quite  inade- 
quate to  his  expenses.  He  is  a  happy  being  who  has 
no  poor  relations.  Magdalen's  cousins  came  when  it 
was  convenient  to  themselves,  and  left  her  alone  when 
they  did  not  want  anything ;  but  she  never  resented 
their  conduct,  for  she  had  an  exaggerated  idea  of  blood 
relationship.  For  years  before  his  death  her  father 
had  been  a  great  invalid.  Always  a  bookworm,  he 
had,  even  before  he  fell  ill,  refused  to  exert  himself,  so 
he  had  found  Mrs.  Stewart,  the  widow  of  a  spendthrift 
admiral,  to  come  and  chaperon  his  daughter  when  she 
first  grew  up. 

Things  were  apt  to   become   institutions   in   that 


44 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


household,  and  Mrs.  Stewart  had  followed  the  general 
rule.  She  had  remained  there  ever  since,  and  hav- 
ing taking  kindly  to  'society,  which  she  accepted  in  a 
sleepy  manner,  she  made  herself  very  comfortable  and 
very  happy  in  spite  of  having  so  little  in  common  with 
Magdalen  Cuthbert.  It  need  hardly  be  said  that,  when 
younger,  Magdalen  had  ruled  her,  and  she  did  so  still. 
Mrs.  Stewart  knew  Miss  Cuthbert's  peculiarities  so 
well  that  now  she  hardly  noticed  them.  Magdalen 
liked  to  be  left  alone,  and  was  given  to  long  fits  of 
silence.  Mrs.  Stewart  said  "  it  was  all  the  result  of 
that  affair"  but  added  that  " she  had  always  been  a 
strong-willed  woman,  and  would  now  always  remain 
so."  The  fashion  had  begun  for  people  to  talk  a  good 
deal  about  heredity.  Mrs.  Stewart,  who  was  old-fash- 
ioned, thought  it  a  curious  subject  to  discuss  in  so- 
ciety, but  as  a  result  of  this  doctrine  she  supposed 
that  no  one  was  now  answerable  for  their  virtues  or 
their  vices,  so  it  naturally  followed  that  Magdalen  was 
exempt  from  blame,  and  besides,  when  all  her  faults 
were  -enumerated,  she  was  as  generous  a  woman  as 
you  could  find.  The  widow  was  not  given  to  ana- 
lysing character,  she  divided  her  life  between  going 
to  parties  and  knitting  at  home.  She  knitted  for  "  the 
indigent,"  as  she  expressed  it,  and  considering  how 
much  she  got  through  in  a  year  it  was  really  wonder- 
ful any  deserving  poor  went  barefooted,  for  she  was 
anxious  to  announce  that  she  only  knitted  for  the  de- 
serving. 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


45 


Magdalen  gave  Mrs.  Stewart  more  love  than  she 
received  from  her,  but  the  outward  expression  of  it 
was  a  little  uncertain.  There  were  long  intervals 
when  Mrs.  Stewart's  presence  seemed  to  her  unbear- 
able, just  because  she  was  there  and  could  not  be  got 
rid  of.  On  the  other  hand,  had  Miss  Cuthbert  found 
a  suitable  opportunity  of  sending  away  her  compan- 
ion, she  would  not  have  taken  advantage  of  it. 

This  evening,  for  instance,  she  would  have  given 
ten  pounds  to  have  driven  home  alone,  but  she  could 
not  drop  her  old  friend  out  of  the  window,  so  she  did 
the  next  best  thing  and  treated  her  as  if  she  were  not 
there.  Wrapped  in  her  white  shawl  she  leant  back 
in  the  brougham,  and  tried  to  still  the  beating  of  her 
.  heart  by  tightly  folding  her  arms  across  it,  as  if  phys- 
ical pain  were  the  cause  of  her  mental  agony.  When 
she  reached  home  she  went  upstairs  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, and  dismissing  her  maid  locked  the  door  ;  then, 
drawing  the  curtain  back,  threw  herself  into  an  arm- 
chair to  marshal  the  wild  thoughts  that  made  every 
pulse  vibrate  and  every  nerve  acutely  sensitive.  And 
all  this  agitation  was  caused  by  the  sound  of  those 
two  words — "  Percy  Chester  !  " 

"  He  knew  him — knew  him  out  there.  How  could 
I  have  expected  it  ?  New  Zealand  is  such  a  big  place. 
He  was  his  friend  ;  he  knew  her  too,  perhaps.  I  must, 
I  must  hear  more  about  him.  Fool  that  I  am,  after  all 
these  years,  and  yet  I  only  saw  his  name  once  in  the 
papers — that  was  bad  enough  ;  but  now,  here,  in  Lon- 


46  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

don,  I  meet  a  man  who  knew  him,  knew  him — O  God  ! 
and  I  never  guessed,  it." 

She  seemed  to  be  suffocating,  and  rose  quickly  to 
throw  up  the  window  sash.  Her  window  looked  out 
upon  the  Square,  which  was  silent  now  except  for  the 
occasional  rattle  of  a  passing  cab.  The  evening 
breeze  blew  softly  about  her  waving  hair,  and  the 
moonlight  rested  on  the  face  and  neck  of  the  beau- 
tiful woman.  She  was  alone  now — alone,  and  she 
could  afford  to  be  natural.  Her  ordinary  life,  and 
she  knew  it  well,  was  one  great  piece  of  acting.  She 
had  studied  her  words,  her  looks,  her  very  attitudes, 
till  studied  life  seemed  the  most  natural  part  of  her 
existence.  She  was  such  a  complex  woman — not  more 
so  perhaps  than  thousands  of  other  human  beings ; 
but  she  realised  it  more,  and  in  that  she  suffered  more 
than  those  who  are  willing  to  let  the  passing  hour  or 
even  the  passing  minute  guide  them.  Magdalen  was 
not  like  such  ;  she  argued  from  one  standpoint,  and 
that  standpoint  was  Percy  Chester. 

That  story  which  touched  her  to  the  quick  came 
back  to  her  this  evening  in  almost  all  its  freshness. 
Her  strong  nature,  like  all  strong  natures,  could  suffer 
acutely  from  the  memory  of  the  past  and  from  antici- 
pation ;  but  she  also  possessed  in  a  great  degree  that 
capacity  for  happiness  which  cold-blooded  people  can 
never  understand.  Even  now,  as  she  impatiently 
opened  a  drawer  and  seized  a  packet  of  letters,  tak- 
ing from  one  of  them  a  man's  photograph,  Magdalen's 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


47 


face  changed  suddenly ;  she  forgot  everything  that 
was  sad,  and  as  she  gazed  at  the  portrait,  an  exqui- 
site look  of  happiness  passed  over  her  face.  She  saw 
Percy  Chester  as  she  had  first  known  him  and  loved 
him.  She  remembered  what  she  had  been  herself — 
not  a  woman  like  the  present  Magdalen  Cuthbert,  but 
another  Magdalen  —  an  intensely  loving,  passionate, 
generous -hearted  woman — a  woman  of  twenty-five, 
with  every  good  impulse  ready  to  increase  a  thou- 
sandfold in  the  sunshine  of  happiness,  ready  to  sac- 
rifice herself  where  she  loved,  and  to  be  forgiving 
where  she  hated, — a  woman  as  well  able  to  admire  as 
to  scorn,  and  to  despise  all  that  was  mean,  ungenerous, 
and  sinful. 

That  Magdalen  had  thought  little  of  her  beauty  ; 
indeed  she  had  hardly  realised  its  power,  perhaps  even 
in  those  early  days  it  had  not  been  quite  as  striking 
as  it  now  was.  Then  she  had  been  capable  of  loving, 
but  now  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  incapable  of  it,  and 
that  she  had  only  a  capacity  for  hating.  Then  she 
had  hidden  nothing  of  her  great  love,  she  had  not 
cared  to  hide  it.  This  Percy  with  his  handsome  face, 
his  fascinating  manners,  his  conscious  power,  his  calm 
possession,  his  assured  belief  in  himself,  his  touch  of 
the  adventurous,  had  seemed  created  to  captivate 
Magdalen  Cuthbert.  She  was  not  a  nature  that  was 
easily  won.  The  resisting  force  had  been  closely  al- 
lied to  the  passionate  element,  as  yet  hardly  devel- 
oped in  her,  but  this  resistance  had  been  her  charm. 


48  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

Before  knowing  her  Percy  had  won  love  easily  and 
often.  Without  having  got  into  serious  scrapes,  or  at 
all  events  into  any  of  which  the  world  was  cognizant, 
he  had  somehow  managed  to  imbibe  the  idea  that  he 
need  only  put  forth  his  power  of  fascination  in 
order  to  conquer. 

Magdalen  Cuthbert  had  crossed  his  path,  and  her 
unusual  beauty,  even  then  differing  utterly  from  the 
pink-and-white  simpering  type  of  womanhood,  had 
entirely  fascinated  him.  He  had  paused,  admired,  and 
in  spite  of  this  she  had  appeared  unconscious  of  his 
meaning.  He  felt  piqued,  he  returned  to  the  attack 
and  determined  to  lay  siege  in  good  earnest.  But  it 
is  dangerous  to  play  at  this  game.  Cupid  may  often 
be  represented  as  a  naked  cherub  handling  a  bow  that 
would  not  kill  a  sparrow,  but  his  appearance  is  decep- 
tive ;  this  pigmy  is  certainly  the  oldest  inhabitant  of 
the  world,  and  his  power  is  altogether  dispropor- 
tionate to  his  size.  In  playing  with  that  fire,  which  in 
the  beginning  only  just  warmed  him,  Percy  had  been 
first  singed,  then  scorched,  then  lastly  he  had  fancied 
his  whole  happiness  depended  in  winning  the  love  of 
this  perfect  woman.  He  had  not  in  the  least  under- 
stood her  character,  but  he  worshipped  the  visible  per- 
fection. He  had  learnt  constancy  for  her  sake,  and 
he  had  added  truth  to  his  former  powers  of  fascina- 
tion, being  now  fully  aware  of  the  worth  of  the  prize. 
Magdalen  was  a  beautiful  woman,  but  strange  to  say 
she  had  never  been  in  love  before.  One  morning  she 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  49 

awoke  to  the  realisation  of  the  meaning  of  the  word 
love,  to  the  sweet  agony  of  being  absorbed  by  one 
idea,  to  the  knowledge  that  she  could  and  would  sacri- 
fice herself,  if  necessary,  for  Percy  Chester's  good. 

Magdalen  could,  if  she  chose,  always  conjure  back 
a  certain  garden  in  Surrey.  She  could  in  her  dream 
find  herself  under  a  softly  murmuring  beech  tree ;  she 
could  hear  Percy's  tones  ;  she  could  feel  again  the 
touch  of  his  hand  and  the  electric  current  of  strong 
feeling  that  passed  between  them  when  he  had  told 
her  of  his  passionate  love  and  that  he  must  win  her 
or  die. 

It  is  said  that  every  woman  has  lived  through 
this  supreme  moment,  or  might  experience  it  if  she 
chose.  We  doubt  it,  and  certainly  to  only  a  few 
natures  is  it  granted  to  give  and  to  receive  perfect 
and  passionate  love. 

Magdalen  had  not  given  her  love  without  a 
struggle,  for  love  implies  sacrifice ;  but  once  given 
the  joy  had  seemed  almost  too  great,  too  wonderful — 
she  had  not  even  had  the  strength  to  say  "yes"  to 
Percy  Chester's  flood  of  passionate  rhetoric.  She  had 
leant  against  the  beech  bole  and  the  beating  of  her 
heart  had  rendered  her  mute,  but  she  had  lifted  her 
blue  eyes,  and  their  blue  had  been  dimmed  with  tears, 
not  from  a  "divine  despair"  but  by  a  divine  love. 
Life  possesses  nothing  more  beautiful,  nothing  more 
mysterious  than  this  reciprocal  love,  and  Percy 
Chester  suddenly  realised  it.  His  flow  of  words 


jo  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

ceased;  his  strong,  manly  arms,  taught  gentleness  by 
love,  encircled  her — this  wondrous  Magdalen !  and  in 
one  pure  passionate  kiss  their  hearts  had  been  joined. 

This  evening  Magdalen  saw  the  whole  scene  re- 
peated ;  she  seemed  to  feel  the  kiss  again,  to  rest  once 
more  against  the  strong  arm,  to  find  breath  at  last  to 
say,  as  she  had  done  that  day,  "  O  Percy  !  is  it  true  ? " 
She  seemed  to  hear  his  very  tone  as  he  answered, 
"  Yes,  Magdalen,  till  death  !  "  Then  her  weary  brain 
made  a  bound  ;  it  leapt  over  that  year  of  happiness 
and  alighted  on  another  period,  one  which  she  repre- 
sented to  herself  by  the  figure  of  a  black  curtain — 
slowly,  very  slowly  let  down  from  heaven  till  her 
whole  sky  was  hidden  and  she  was  left  in  utter  dark- 
ness, a  darkness  which  had  never  dispersed,  but 
which  had  ever  since  turned  her  day  into  night,  caus- 
ing her  always  to  be  groping  on,  seeking  in  vain  for 
support. 

"  It  did  not  kill  me,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  sud- 
denly dropped  the  photograph  and  the  letters  upon 
the  floor ;  "  strange,  or  can  it  be  possible  that  I  am 
merely  a  ghost,  a  being  without  a  soul,  that  it  went 
away  when  he  left  England  ?  There  are  strange 
things  in  life,  is  this  one  impossible  ?  " 

The  clock  struck  one,  and  a  colder  breath  stirred 
the  soft  folds  of  her  dress.  She  had  not  even  taken 
the  trouble  to  take  off  her  beautiful  gown ;  she  knew 
that  before  she  could  find  rest  she  would  have  to 
think  down  the  sharp  pain.  It  was  very,  very  rarely 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  5! 

that  Magdalen  allowed  herself  to  begin  thinking  ;  but 
when  she  did  so  some  irresistible  avenger  forced  her 
to  go  on  through  the  whole  scene.  She  had  to  begin 
at  the  beginning,  when  she  had  first  been  introduced 
to  Percy,  and  to  go  on  and  on — to  pause  under  that 
beech  tree,  to  feel  the  thrill  of  intense  happiness,  and 
then  again  to  go  on  and  on  till  the  black  curtain  be- 
gan to  descend  and  to  shut  out  inch  by  inch  her  sky 
of  blue  and  all  her  happiness. 

That  first  little  edge  of  black  had  been  so  narrow, 
hardly  noticeable.  She  even  remembered  that  she 
had  experienced  pleasure  when  a  certain  married  pair 
had  settled  in  a  house  near  to  her  country  home. 
The  wife  was  a  pretty,  fluffy,  fair  thing ;  a  little  angel 
in  appearance,  alway  dressed  to  perfection,  and  out- 
wardly joining  the  innocence  of  the  new-born  Eve 
with  the  beauty  of  a  Helen.  A  little  soft,  affectionate 
creature,  whose  very  baby  face  and  baby  hands  spoke 
of  everything  except  guile.  But  some  evil  star  had 
shone,  and  the  baby  woman  had  cast  her  soft  looks 
upon  Percy.  He  had  played  with  her  at  first,  as  one 
does  with  a  kitten.  What  did  it  matter  ?  She  had  a 
husband,  and  he  was  engaged  :  both  were  quite  safe. 
Magdalen  was  sometimes  a  little  too  much  in  earnest, 
and  showed  too  plainly  her  devotion  to  and  her  ad- 
miration for  him.  The  fair,  fluffy  kitten  said  little 
amusing  things — sharp,  like  drops  of  vinegar.  She 
often  even  scolded  the  big  Percy,  taking  up  the  amus- 
ing standpoint  of  a  married  woman.  She  laughed  at 


52  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

him  for  being  such  a  devoted  lover,  and  she  unfortu- 
nately found  out  that  Magdalen  had  not  much  sense 
of  the  ludicrous.  This  little  thing  had  a  passion  for 
amusing  herself,  whilst  her  lord  liked  nothing  better 
than  fishing,  and,  as  she  said,  you  could  not  expect  a 
woman  to  turn  into  an  everlasting  water-nymph  to 
please  any  husband.  She  adored  horses  and  hunting, 
so  did  Percy,  whilst  Magdalen  was  nervous  on  horse- 
back, and — why  enumerate  any  more  ?  It  is  a  com- 
mon story,  so  common  that  every  day  our  newspapers 
contain  more  or  less  detailed  accounts  of  such  narra- 
tives, and  the  beginning  of  those  trials  that  end  with 
a  respondent  and  a  co-respondent  are  as  often  as  not 
begun  in  just  such  harmless  ways.  The  heroines  are 
often  little  soft,  pretty,  fluffy,  delicate  women  who  are 
bored,  who  want  amusement,  who  are  blast,  who  find 
a  dull  husband  hell  upon  earth,  and  somebody's  hand- 
some lover  a  glimpse  of  heaven.  Really,  after  a  time 
the  details  are  not  interesting.  Zola  or  another  may 
describe  them  graphically,  but  very  soon  they  pall 
upon  one;  they  are  true  but  not  amusing,  for  out  of 
the  hollow  life  rings  a  hollow  laugh,  and  the  death's 
head  peeps  out  wickedly  below  the  pink-and-white 
flesh.  There  is  seldom  one  ennobling  struggle  to 
compensate  the  reader  for  examining  the  sickening 
details,  there  is  seldom  even  one  defeat  as  good  as  a 
victory. 

A  man  is  but  a  very  weak  instrument   in  the  hands 
t>f  a  woman  of  that  sort.     Lily  M'Intyre  pitted  against 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  53 

Magdalen  Cuthbert  was  as  a  strong  silk  cord  compared 
with  a  gossamer  thread.  Percy  found  himself  one 
day  tied  and  bound  with  the  silk  cord ;  he  struggled 
feebly,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  struggle  when  a  fluffy  kit- 
ten is  looking  on  and  laughing  softly ;  and  Magdalen 
in  her  noble,  generous  unsuspectingness,  woke  up  one 
day  to  find  the  first  seed  of  jealousy  in  her  mind,  the 
first  idea  of  suspicion  eating  into  her  very  heart. 

That  is  yet  another  story,  another  well-known 
struggle,  another  oft-told  tale,  and  the  end  too  is  pain- 
fully unoriginal.  The  waking  up  and  seeing  Finis  at 
the  end  of  a  page  of  one's  life,  when  the  life  has  ap- 
parently just  begun.  The  sudden  news,  told  with 
almost  brutal  sympathy,  that  one's  lover  has  eloped 
with  another  man's  wife,  and  that  they  have  both  left 
the  country. 

When  Magdalen's  meditation  reached  this  point, 
even  now  she  opened  her  blue  eyes  wide,  as  if  she 
must  look  into  the  invisible,  as  if  she  must  see  far- 
ther, as  if  she  must  follow  him  and  know  more.  Find- 
ing this  impossible,  she  rose  and  began  nervously  to 
undo  her  dress ;  she  wrapped  herself  up  in  a  soft 
white  dressing-gown  and  leant  out  of  the  window  to 
imbibe  another  breath  of  cool  night  air.  To  the 
world  the  story  was  old  and  forgotten,  to  her  it  was 
new  still,  it  might  even  have  happened  yesterday. 
She  felt  she  must  go  after  them ;  she  must,  at  any 
cost,  separate  them ;  she  must  tell  him  that  as  he  had 
left  her  she  would  die;  that  her  heart  was  breaking; 


54 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


that  that  woman  could  not  make  him  happy ;  that  she 
alone  had  the  power  and  the  right  to  do  so. 

"  Percy,  Percy,  I  alone  !  "  She  said  these  words 
aloud,  now  she  was  alone,  and  now  that  the  words 
were  but  a  foolish  mockery.  "  Percy,  Percy,  do  you 
hear  me  ?  you  must,  you  must !  O  God  !  do  the  dead 
hear  ?  I  forgot.  He  is  dead,  dead — my  Percy ;  the 
man  I  loved  like  that;  and  he,  this  Brice  Leslie,  knew 
him,  loved  him.  He  must  have  heard  his  story,  but 
not  with  names.  Oh  no,  Percy  was  generous  even 
when  he  was  wicked,  he  could  not  betray  a  woman's 
name.  You  could  not  do  that — could  you,  Percy, 
though  you  did  so  much  else  ?  Is  it  possible  that  I  can 
still  feel  the  agony,  still,  after  all  these  years  ? " 

She  walked  to  the  pier  glass  and,  lifting  her  beau- 
tiful arms,  unfastened  her  hair.  It  fell  in  thick,  wav- 
ing masses  around  her  (the  Magdalen's  hair  was  a 
subject  of  discussion  among  some  of  her  acquaint- 
ances), and  she  gazed  at  herself  as  one  gazes  at  a 
beautiful  stranger. 

"  No,  I  am  not  that  Magdalen ;  I  have  all  her 
power  of  suffering,  I  have  inherited  all  her  sorrow  ; 
but  I  am  not  that  woman  ;  she  had  the  capability  of 
being  good  and  generous;  she  was.  loving,  forgiving 
— oh  yes,  intensely  loving,  and  this  one —  Mag- 
dalen laughed,  a  short,  satirical  laugh,  a  laugh  that 
would  have  stirred  pity  in  any  heart  that  still  re- 
mained human.  "  This  one  is  very  different,  for  now 
I  know  everything  about  women ;  I  know  all  she  did 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


55 


to  win  Percy  and  ruin  him ;  and  if  I  chose  ...  I, 
too,  could  win  and  ruin  a  man.  Have  I  done  it  ? — 
Not  as  she  did,  because  I  have  never  seen  another 
Percy ;  but,  pshaw,  the  game  is  not  worth  the  trouble. 
Where  is  the  man  that  would  satisfy  me  ?  That 
woman  must  have  had  a  moment  of  intense  triumph ; 
she  must  have  laughed  in  her  soft  cooing  manner, 
if  only  once,  with  real  enjoyment — and  afterwards  ? 
But  perhaps  that  once  must  have  made  up  for  the 
rest.  Who  would  risk  all  for  nothing?  No  one,  not 
even  the  devil." 

The  clock  in  the  room  struck  two.  A  dull  sound 
of  a  church  clock  followed,  and  Magdalen  Cuthbert 
lay  back  on  her  cushioned  chair,  spent  with  the  strug- 
gle that  had  taken  place  in  her.  She  might  have 
been  the  ancient  mariner  himself  telling  his  tale  to  a 
stranger,  urged  on  to  do  so  by  an  inward  impulse  too 
strong  to  resist,  but  now  that  the  tale  was  told  she 
felt  weak  as  a  child. 

Usually  she  stopped  here,  because  she  knew  no 
more.  When  Percy  Chester  had  disappeared,  the 
world  Magdalen  lived  in  had  paused  a  moment  to 
lift  its  eyebrows,  and  to  offer  her  a  curious  pity; 
then,  after  this  slight  surprise,  the  world  remarked 
that  the  tale  was  old,  forgot  the  episode,  and  went  on 
as  before. 

And  for  Magdalen  never  a  syllable  of  news.  Had 
they  lived  and  loved  ?  had  they  drawn  closer  or  had 
they  parted  ?  had  the  after  enjoyment  been  worth  the 


56  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

awful  tearing  asunder  of  true  love  and  of  rightful 
duty  ?  had  they  been  all  in  all  to  each  other,  or  had 
they  hated  each  other  ? 

But  silence  alone  answered — nothing. 

Time  ha.d  gone  on.  Magdalen  had  changed, 
changed  past  recognition ;  she  had  given  up  old 
friends ;  she  had  dragged  her  father  to  London,  and 
she  had  tried  to  drown  thought  in  the  world's  restless 
stream.  And  all  the  time  she  had  been  starving, 
starving  for  the  want  of  any  word,  any  certainty  of 
Percy's  fate ;  but  the  word  had  never  come. 

She  waited  and  waited.  Some  day  she  thought 
he  would  come  back,  broken-down,  sad,  crushed ;  he 
would  come  and  lay  his  wretched  life  at  her  feet,  and 
say  that  what  remained  of  it  was  hers.  This  was 
Magdalen's  last  generous  thought,  last  womanly  vis- 
ion. In  it  she  had  seen  herself  stooping  to  him,  lift- 
ing him  tenderly  in  her  arms — she  who  was  so  tall  and 
strong;  she  had  heard  herself  murmuring  words  of 
forgiveness ;  she  had  heard  herself  saying  once  more, 
"  O  Percy !  is  it  true  ?  "  She  had  believed  that  her 
pure  lips  would  cleanse  away  his  stains,  and  then  that 
their  broken  lives  would  unite  like  a  bough  that  has 
nearly  been  broken  off,  but  which,  because  of  tender 
binding  up,  has  once  more  been  joined  to  the  parent 
stem. 

But  that  awful  silence  had  in  the  end  destroyed 
the  vision,  and  she  had  at  last, — remember  it  was  a 
long  time  before  this  happened, — she  had  said  aloud — 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY.  57 

"  If  he  comes  I  will  spurn  him  with  my  foot,  and  I 
know  he  will  come." 

By  this  time  there  was  sad  havoc  made  in  Magda- 
len's fair  garden.  Her  father  died,  and  she  was  left 
alone  with  Mrs.  Stewart,  but  she  was  left  well  off. 
Had  Percy  come  now  as  a  penniless  prodigal,  she 
would  have  had  enough  for  both,  but  then  that  vision 
of  exquisite  tenderness  had  faded  quite  away.  And 
next — the  tale  must  be  gone  through,  even  if  it  is  not 
by  any  means  original — one  morning  Magdalen  Cuth- 
bert  took  up  a  newspaper,  and  read  the  bare  an- 
nouncement :  "  At  ,  New  Zealand,  on  the 

1 8 — ,  Percy  Chester.  Friends  will  please  accept  this 
the  only  intimation." 

Strange  human  nature !  Magdalen  suddenly  re- 
gretted her  lost  vision  of  pity.  She  might  have  kept 
it  had  she  been  more  noble;  it  would  have  made  no 
difference  to  facts.  He  had  never  come  back. 

And  the  rest  ?  What  was  it  ?  Had  she,  Lily 
M'Intyre,  closed  his  eyes  ?  Why  had  he  died  ?  Percy 
Chester  had  been  so  strong,  so  handsome,  that  the 
word  death  could  never  be  associated  with  him.  It 
seemed  almost  an  impossibility  to  think  of  him  in  the 
cold  grave. 

Again  silence  said  nothing. 

Magdalen  breathed  a  deep  sigh.  The  story  was 
over,  it  was  her  turn  now  to  live.  She  must  live,  she 
must  have  some  enjoyment  before  she  died,  she  must 
revenge  herself  on  life  that  had  cheated  her  so  miser- 


58  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

ably.  She,  too,  must  have  her  one  moment  of  tri- 
umph— her  one  soft,  cooing  laugh  of  happiness — paid 
for  at  any  price;  why  not  she  as  well  as  that  other 
woman  ?  Why  not  ?  Life  was  life,  and  death  was  in- 
exorab.le.  Life  was  slipping  away  so  quickly,  so  very 
quickly,  and  she  had  had  no  happiness;  she  had  only 
sipped  the  wine  of  love;  she  had  never  had  a  child's 
lips  against  her  lips;  she  had  never  heard  the  sweet 
call  of  mother,  as  did  so  many  common  women  with  no 
heart — she  who  would  have  worshipped  at  a  child's 
shrine  if  it  had  been  his  child,  Percy's  child.  O  God ! 
if  there  were  a  God  ! 

The  clock  struck  three,  a  distant  cock  crowed, — a 
coachman's  wife  in  some  near  mews  kept  fowls,  and 
this  chanticleer  began  early  to  wake  the  echoes. 

Magdalen  was  intensely  weary.  She  had  now 
hardly  sufficient  power  left  to  crawl  into  her  bed.  In 
spite  of  her  weariness,  however,  her  beauty  was  a  sight 
worth  seeing  at  this  moment,  for  the  weakness  of 
strength  has  its  own  strange  beauty.  She  looked  like 
some  heroine  of  the  Sagas,  or  some  ancient  prophetess 
after  the  oracle  has  been  delivered  at  the  cost  of  the 
bodily  anguish  of  the  seer.  Then  suddenly  a  spring 
of  long  dried-up  tears  forced  its  way  to  the  surface, 
and  with  one  bitter  heart-rending  cry  Magdalen  threw 
herself  on  her  bed  as  the  words  escaped  her  lips — 

"But  he,  this  man,  saw  him — knew  him,  knew  all; 
and  I  must,  I  must  know  !  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

GORSE  and  heather  and  a  thousand  beautiful 
things;  fir  woods  where  the  squirrels  scamper  and 
where  the  hedgehog  coils  himself  up  into  a  formidable 
ball,  where  the  woodpecker  disports  himself  and  the 
wood-pigeon  coos  to  her  mate.  Imagine  a  property 
composed  of  all  such  lovely  things,  and  add  to  it  dis- 
tant views  of  exquisite  colouring,  for  it  is  only  in  this 
part  of  the  world  that  you  get  exactly  these  tints. 
Imagine,  too,  a  canal  whose  banks  are  more  beautiful 
than  many  a  riverside,  and  place  a  little  boat  on  it  in 
which  a  girl  is  rowing  herself  slowly  along  in  the 
dreamy  fashion  which  a  hot  July  day  naturally  calls 
forth.  Now  and  then  she  hastily  puts  up  her  hand  to 
brush  away  a  gnat,  or  else  she  bends  forward  to 
notice  the  lovely  dragon-fly  that  has  settled  for  an 
instant  on  the  arrow-head  leaf.  If  you  can  visualise 
all  this,  you  cannot  but  admire  an  exquisite  picture. 

"  It  is  very,  very  delightful  to  be  in  Old  England,' 
the  girl  was  thinking ;  "  in  New  Zealand  we  were  al- 
ways talking  of  home,  and  yet  we  little  expected  to 
come  here,  here  to  Foy  Lodge.  How  papa  used  to 
picture  it  all  to  me,  and  how  mother  doubted  ;  and 


60  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

now,  and  now  I  am  so  very,  very  happy ;  and 
when  he  comes — " 

She  shipped  her  oars  and,  throwing  herself  back, 
flung  her  arms  behind  her  head  and  let  herself  float 
downwards  with  the  current.  She  made  a  very  lovely 
picture,  and  an  artist  sitting  on  the  bank  saw  her  pass 
by,  and  to  himself  called  her  "divinely  fair."  Poor 
man !  he  had  no  settled  income,  but  much  romance  in 
his  character.  He  would  have  given  her  the  last  gold 
piece  he  possessed  to  have  stopped  by  him  in  her 
present  attitude,  and  just  to  let  him  sketch  her  as  a 
sweet  water-nymph,  but  even  the  possession  of  money 
does  not  give  you  the  courage  to  beg  young  ladies 
dressed  in  becoming  costumes  and  who  are  floating 
down  a  river  to  act  as  models. 

Griselda  Foy  was  not  "divinely  fair,"  because  that 
is  a  fairness  we  cannot  easily  describe,  whilst  she,  on 
the  contrary,  easily  lent  herself  to  definition.  She 
was  rather  above  the  average  height,  but  she  had 
more  the  outlines  of  youthful  girlhood  than  of  fully 
developed  womanhood.  Neither  was  she  extremely 
young,  having  just  celebrated  her  twenty-first  birth- 
day in  her  new  home.  It  is  beautiful  to  be  young  and 
to  possess  nearly  all  that  an  innocent  heart  can  desire. 
It  is  still  more  beautiful  to  have  a  strong  power  of  en- 
joyment which  crowns  everything  that  surrounds  your 
existence  with  a  golden  halo.  Life  was  precious  to 
Griselda  because  she  was  happy.  She  looked  down 
on  its  long  vista  and  hailed  it  with  the  gladdest  wel- 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  6t 

come  and  with  laughter.  She  was  not  blas^  she  had 
plenty  to  do,  and  she  was  not  delicate  or  fanciful. 
She  was  full  of  a  healthy  poetry,  which  to  some 
natures  makes  even  sad  things  enjoyable.  She  was 
ignorant  of  the  details  of  evil,  but  she  had  intense  pity 
for  evil-doers  and  for  the  suffering  of  which  she  was 
cognisant.  Now  she  had  come  home  to  England 
after  her  twenty-one  years  of  colonial  life,  and  she 
was  ready  to  believe  that  everything  in  England  was 
perfect.  She  dearly  loved  New  Zealand,  but  Foy 
Lodge  was  the  old  home  of  her  ancestors,  so  she  loved 
it  better  than  the  colonial  farm.  Her  two  elder 
uncles  had  died  within  a  few  years  of  each  other,  and 
most  unexpectedly  her  father  had  become  head  of  the 
family  and  possessor  of  its  Hampshire  property,  and 
this  was  the  reason  why  these  New  Zealand  settlers 
had  returned  to  the  mother  country. 

Griselda  could  have  found  her  way  about  the  Foy 
estate  blindfolded,  before  ever  she  came  to  Foy 
Lodge.  She  knew  all  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the 
house,  of  the  garden,  of  the  fields  and  woods;  she 
knew  all  about  the  winding  canal  and  all  the  lovely 
bushes  and  copsewood  treasures  on  its  banks ;  she 
knew  the  look  of  the  American  weed  lazily  waving  its 
fronds  below  the  surface  of  the  water ;  she  recognised 
the  rustle  of  the  moorhen,  the  song  of  the  nightingale, 
and  the  chirp  of  the  yellowhammer.  Now  she  had 
them  all  in  reality,  and  leaning  back  in  her  boat  she 
said  aloud — 


62  A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 

"  I  believe  I  am  still  dreaming,  but  when  Brice 
comes  it  will  be  real,  real.  I  wonder  if  next  year  we 
shall  go  to  London,  and  if  Brice  and  I  will  .  .  .  No, 
papa  can't  do  without  me  yet,  and  mamma  won't  hear 
of  any  parting;  but  Horace  and  Evie  will  soon  be 
grown  up,  and — well,  nothing  matters  now  that  we  are 
here  and  that  Brice  is  coming." 

There  was  no  inordinate  shyness  about  Griselda. 
In  that  she  differed  from  an  English  girl  of  her  own 
age,  character,  and  standing.  Hers  was  a  beautiful 
nature,  and  by  that  we  mean  that  all  her  impulses 
were  good,  for  the  passions  of  more  passionate  na- 
tures had  never  ruffled  her  inner  sanctuary.  To  some 
she  would  have  seemed  as  one  of  God's  angels  whilst 
to  others  but  half  a  woman,  and  in  consequence  only 
half  to  be  desired  if  wholly  to  be  admired. 

The  lithe  limbs  were  all  grace ;  the  small,  active, 
well-rounded  arms  were  the  embodiment  of  energy; 
the  fair  hair  in  plaits  around  her  small,  well-shaped 
head  looked  like  spun  silk,  and  the  grey  eyes  deep, 
tender,  and  gentle  in  expression.  A  modern  writer 
has  said :  "  The  ideal  world  has  its  sorrows  but  it 
never  admits  despair."  Griselda  had  lived  and  did 
live  in  an  ideal  world,  and  she  not  only  shut  out 
despair  but  she  knew  not  even  the  meaning  of  the 
word. 

Heine's  words  did,  indeed,  apply  to  Griselda 
Foy,  and  must  have  been  written  for  her  counter- 
part— 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY.  63 

"  Du  bist  wie  eine  Blume 
So  hold  und  schon  und  rein  ; 
Ich  schau'  dich  an  und  Wehmuth 
Schleicht  mir  ins  Herz  hinein. 
Mir  1st,  als  ob  ich  die  Hande 
Aufs  Haupt  dir  legen  sollt', 
Betend,  dass  Gott  dich  erhalte 
So  rein  und  schon  und  hold." 

Thus  dreaming  of  future  happiness,  whilst  hardly 
able  to  realise  to  the  full  her  present  joys,  Griselda 
floated  down  the  stream  till  all  at  once  the  boat,  go- 
ing its  own  sweet  way,  stranded  itself  near  a  bridge. 
A  man  leaning  on  the  other  side  of  the  bridge  heard 
the  sound  of  the  boat  grating  against  the  posts  sunk 
near  the  bank  to  support  it.  He  unfolded  his  arms 
and  stepped  across  the  road,  then  he  looked  down  and 
the  expression  of  his  face  suddenly  changed.  Griselda 
had  not  seen  him,  and  he  had  time  to  think  many 
things  and  to  pull  himself  together  before  making  his 
presence  known  ;  then,  drawing  back  from  the  para- 
pet, he  hurried  down  the  grassy  side  of  the  bridge  to 
reach  the  towing-path.  By  this  time  Griselda  was 
standing  up  and  was  trying  to  push  the  boat  off  when 
she  suddenly  looked  up,  then  she  dropped  her  oar 
from  sheer  surprise  and  exclaimed,  turning  first  pale, 
then  bright  pink — 

"  O  Brice  !  is  it  you  ?  Who — what — how  came  you 
here  ?  In  England,  and  I  didn't  know  it." 

Brice  laughed  aloud;  he  grasped  Griselda's  out- 
stretched hand,  and  in  an  instant  he  was  in  the  boat 

beside  her. 

5 


64  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  A  real,  real  surprise.  I  couldn't  resist  it,  really  I 
couldn't.  My  people  even  don't  know  it,  no  one  does; 
and  strange,  isn't  it,  that  fate  should  bring  us  together 
like  this ! " 

"  Strange  ?  no,  not  at  all ;  but — I  wish  you  had 
written.  Tell  me  everything ;  when  did  you  land  ? 
No,  not  to-day,  nor  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  early  yesterday  morning,  and  I  stayed 
in  London  that  night." 

They  sat  down  still  holding  each  other's  hands. 
They  did  not  kiss,  because  they  were  in  a  peculiar  re- 
lationship to  each  other.  To  all  intents  and  purposes 
they  were  engaged,  but  the  fact  was  still  a  secret.  In 
the  happy  New  Zealand  days,  when  Brice  came  some- 
times unexpectedly  to  the  farm,  they  had  learnt  to 
love  each  other.  It  had  all  come  about  very  gradu- 
ally. First,  a  brother  and  sister-like  acquaintance,  a 
young  sister's  feeling  for  an  elder  brother ;  then  some- 
thing more ;  then  on  Brice's  side  a  feeling  that  this 
beautiful  child  was  too  good  for  him ;  then  a  wish  to 
win  her,  and  then —  Well,  then  an  outcry  from  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Foy :  Griselda  was  too  young,  in  her  lonely 
farm  life  she  had  seen  so  few  people.  Some  day  she 
must  be  sent  to  England,  to  Foy  Lodge,  where  her  un- 
cle and  cousin  lived.  Brice  Leslie's  people  also  lived 
near  the  Foys.  He  knew  the  place ;  they  were  friends 
of  the  family  ;  everything  about  the  engagement  would 
be  suitable,  except  that  there  was  very  little  money  on 
her  side.  Certainly  Brice  was  not  poor,  he  had  a  nice 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  65 

income;  but  Griselda  must  wait  a  longtime  for  her 
share  of  the  farm  profits.  Mrs.  Foy  always  lived  in  a 
state  of  fear.  She  feared  Brice  was  a  little  old  for 
Griselda ;  she  feared  he  might  not  have  enough 
money ;  she  feared  his  health  might  break  down ;  she 
feared  Horace  and  Evie  would  miss  their  elder  sister; 
she  feared  she  herself  could  not  do  without  her ;  she 
feared  Griselda  did  not  know  her  own  mind — and  she 
feared  many  more  things  in  this  same  strain. 

Mr.  Foy  took  quite  another  line.  The  prospect 
was  exactly  what  he  wished  and  expected  for  his 
Griselda,  but  there  was  time  enough.  Brice  Leslie 
was  more  than  ten  years  older.  Was  he  quite  sure 
that  she  was  the  wife  best  suited  to  him  ?  But  //  they 
stuck  to  each  other,  and  if  things  went  on  happily,  he 
had  no  objection  to  their  becoming  engaged. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Horace  Foy  found  himself  the  head 
of  the  house  of  Foy.  His  brother  and  his  brother's 
only  son  were  one  day  both  drowned  in  a  yacht,  and 
he  came  in  for  Foy  Lodge  and  a  comfortable  income. 
The  New  Zealand  farm  was  sold,  the  family  goods 
packed  up,  and  the  Foy  family  sailed  away.  Brice 
came  to  see  them  off,  and  said  he  should  soon  follow 
them.  He  would  get  a  long  holiday,  and  then — 

"  And  then  we  shall  be  allowed  to  be  engaged," 
Griselda  had  whispered ;  in  the  meantime  she  was 
very  happy  about  the  new  prospects,  and  Brice  was  a 
little  jealous.  A  year  might  change  his  Griselda;  she 
might  see  someone  she  liked  better;  she  might  do  all 


66  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

sorts  of  things — and  he  wanted  her.  He  yearned  for 
home  life,  his  own  people  not  being  particularly  sym- 
pathetic, and  he  had  parted  from  them  early  in  life. 
For  a  year,  however,  he  continued  his  lonely  life,  and 
then  he  obtained  his  leave  and  set  forth  for  England 
and  for  Griselda. 

Brice  Leslie  was  one  of  those  men  who  develop 
late.  When  young  he  had  been  so  full  of  health  and 
strength,  of  energy  and  talent  for  his  profession,  that 
he  was  satisfied  with  working  out  his  superabundant 
life  in  this  way.  Then  came  a  new  experience,  his 
friendship  with  Percy  Chester — a  friendship  which 
taught  him  much  that  perhaps  it  would  have  been 
happier  for  him  not  to  know  ;  but  there  was  no  resist- 
ing the  fascination,  or  perhaps  the  strength  of  animal 
magnetism,  which  has  never  yet  been  fully  understood, 
and  which  Percy  Chester  possessed  in  a  marvellous 
degree.  It  was  not  only  women  who  were  attracted 
to  him,  but  men  also  who  fell  under  the  spell.  It  is  a 
question  for  learned  people  to  unravel  whether  great 
generals,  great  leaders,  and  great  sinners  of  the  world 
have  not  been  the  victims  or  the  happy  possessors  of 
this  magnetic  power,  the  strength  of  it  determining 
the  amount  of  their  success  or  the  extent  of  their 
ruin. 

For  years  Brice  Leslie  was  this  man's  willing  slave, 
and  only  when  death  came  to  separate  them  did  the 
pell  cease.  Then  only  was  it  that,  weary  of  life  from 
its  standpoint  of  hero-worship,  Griselda's  gentle  influ- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  67 

ence  and  purity  of  thought  cast  its  charm  over  him. 
He  had  known  enough  of  stormy  life,  enough  of  the 
suffering  of  sin,  enough  of  sorrow,  though  it  had 
touched  him  in  an  indirect  manner.  The  reaction 
made  Griselda  appear  to  him  like  an  angel  from 
heaven,  and  he  loved  her. 

To  say  that  he  did  not  understand  her  is  to  state  a 
trite  fact.  What  man  who  has  had  no  sister,  no  home 
life  since  he  became  a  man,  can  understand  a  woman ; 
what  woman  can  understand  a  man  ?  But  he  knew 
that  the  merry-hearted  girl  had  no  thought  that  need 
be  hidden,  and  that  her  pure,  unselfish  life  was  only 
too  good  to  be  given  to  him.  He  had  learnt  so  much 
through  Percy  Chester.  For  years  he  had  admired  a 
man  whom  his  conscience  condemned,  and  this  state 
of  mind  was  deteriorating,  setting  up  a  feeling  of  un- 
certainty as  to  cause  and  effect  in  the  moral  life, 
which  put  the  whole  machinery  out  of  order.  Viewed 
from  the  outside,  however,  Brice  Leslie  was  a  high- 
minded,  noble  specimen  of  humanity,  a  man  whose 
strong  physique  betokened  a  strong  power  of  moral 
resistance,  an  ego  of  no  mean  capability,  and  yet — 
Percy  Chester  had  still  much  to  answer  for ;  the  dead, 
through  the  power  of  thought,  being  still  powerful  for 
evil  as  well  as  for  good. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Griselda,  for  not  having 
told  you,"  said  Brice,  smiling. 

"  I  was  surprised.  Let  us  row  back  at  once,  Brice ; 
this  makes  the  day  quite,  quite  perfect.  Of  course 


68  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

you  know  all  this  country,  but  to  me  it  was  new  and 
yet  old.  It  is  fortunate  I  learnt  to  row  and  ride  so 
well  in  New  Zealand.  Your  sister  can't  understand 
my  love  of  out-of-door  exercise,  but  she  should  have 
lived  out  there  for  a  few  years,  then  she  would  know ! 
And  fancy,  Brice,  I  father  like  society,  in  spite  of  the 
severe  remarks  you  used  to  make  about  it." 

Griselda  looked  so  pretty  as  she  said  this  and 
smiled  at  him,  that  he  shook  off  a  little  of  his  mental 
languor,  so  that  the  old  thoughts  began  to  reassert 
themselves. 

"  Of  course  you  do ;  I  expect  you  are  made 
much  of." 

"  Yes,  papa  says  so.  The  people  were  a  little  stiff 
at  first,  but  they  soon  thawed.  This  year  we  are  still 
in  half  mourning,  but  next  spring — " 

"  You  reckon  easily  without  me." 

"  Brice,  of  course  I  don't,  but  I  couldn't  leave 
them  at  once,  could  I  ?  And  now  you  will  have  a 
year  in  England  and  be  so  much  with  us.  Your 
house  is  not  a  long  way  from  Foy  Lodge.  When  you 
come  it  will  be  almost  like  one  of  your  long  New 
Zealand  visits." 

"  Almost,  not  quite  for  me,  I  expect." 

"  We  have  not  seen  much  of  your  people.  Your 
father  is  a  great  invalid  now,  and  Mrs.  Leslie  and 
your  sister  hardly  ever  leave  him,  but  oh,  Brice,  they 
will  be  angry  with  me  for  seeing  you  first.  They 
don't  know — " 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  69 

"  No,  of  course  not ;  you  know  I  was  allowed  to 
mention  it  to  no  one." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  They  think  we  are  only  great 
friends,"  Griselda  blushed  so  prettily  that  for  a  mo- 
ment Brice  wished  that  everything  had  been  settled 
last  year,  and  he  wished  also  that  he  had  now  the 
right  to  kiss  those  sweet  lips  that  smiled  at  him. 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  be  coming  home  with  you, 
Griselda." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  in  England  people  are  so  straitlaced  !  " 

Griselda  laughed  heartily. 

"  No,  your  sister  says  that  customs  are  changing 
fast ;  besides,  what  does  it  matter  ?  This  winter  I 
went  hunting  with  papa  a  good  deal,  and  just  because 
I  rode  right  through  everything,  as  we  did  at  home, 
people  were  surprised  and  only  consoled  themselves 
by  calling  me  '  The  New  Zealander.'  " 

"  As  if  you  could  do  anything  wrong,  dear,"  he 
said  gently. 

"  Why,  you  are  as  foolish  as  ever,  Brice  !  I'm 
just  the  same,  why  should  I  change  ?  " 

"  You  are  Miss  Foy  of  Foy  Lodge  now." 

"  But  I'm  myself  first ;  I  hope  I  never  shall  become 
artificial." 

There  came  a  sudden  turn  of  memory's  wheel  over 
Brice  Leslie's  mind.  He  saw  a  tall,  handsome  woman, 
leaning  her  beautiful  arm  against  a  marble  Venus. 
That  woman  was  artificial.  The  most  unsophisticated 


«Q  A  WOMAN  OF  FORTY. 

person  would  say  so — and  yet,  and  yet,  how  splendid 
she  had  looked.  How  she  flashed  out  her  remarks. 
And  the  end — what  was  it  ?  what  had  it  meant  ?  How 
he  longed  to  know  even  now,  though  he  had  put  miles 
of  country  between  her  and  himself.  Here  was  another 
woman,  one  barely  on  the  threshold  of  life  hoping  she 
might  never  be  artificial.  Had  that  other  ever  been 
as  youthful  in  mind,  and  as  innocent  in  her  thoughts 
as  Griselda  ?  That  was  hardly  possible  ! 

"  I  can't  imagine  you  anything  but  yourself. 
Griselda  has  the  poetical  vein  improved  since  I  last — 

"  Since  you  last  found  my  unfortunate  scribbles  ! 
It  was  very  unfair  of  you,  Brice,  and  you  do  not  de- 
serve to  know.  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  however :  I 
have  studied  a  good  deal  of  the  real  poets  since  I 
have  had  so  many  books  at  my  disposal.  You  will 
like  our  library.  It  seems  Uncle  Stephen  was  a  very 
literary  man,  and  was  always  buying  books.  If  I 
were  clever — " 

"  You  are  quite  clever  enough  for  me,"  said  Brice 
softly. 

"  Brice,  you  don't  know  !  Girls  are  so  clever  here 
in  England  now.  They  go  to  college,  and  they  take 
degrees  and  understand  all  kinds  of  things.  Your  sis- 
ter, who  likes  parish  work  and  poor  people,  says  that 
learning  spoils  nice  girls,  but  I  have  seen  some  de- 
lightful girls  and  women  who  have  been  to  Girton 
and  Newnham,  and  are  very  much  like  their  neigh- 
bours." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  7! 

"  You  can  ride  and  fish  and  boat  and  make  dresses 
and  help  everybody,  and  you  are  always  ready  with 
womanly  sympathy — that  is  far  better  than — " 

"  What  are  you  counting  up  my  virtues  for  ?  No 
one  but  you  would  do  anything  so  funny  !  Now,  here 
we  are.  We  have  made  this  landing-place  here  close 
to  the  firwood,  so  that  there  is  quite  a  nice  little  walk 
up  to  the  house  through  it.  You  didn't  know  Foy 
Lodge  well  in  old  days,  did  you,  Brice?" 

"  No,  when  I  was  young  your  uncle  was  rarely 
here.  At  one  time  it  was  let  to  some  disagreeable 
people  no  one  visited." 

They  pulled  the  boat  into  its  resting-place,  and 
then  Griselda  slipped  her  hand  into  Brice  Leslie's  arm 
just  as  they  used  to  do  in  New  Zealand  when  Brice 
had  suddenly  turned  up  after  one  of  his  long  surveys. 

He  felt  proud  and  happy  at  this  moment,  so  happy 
indeed  that  he  dreaded  to  see  the  end  of  the  walk. 

"  By  the  way,  my  little  girl "  (he  used  to  call  her 
that),  "  was  it  not  curious  that  yesterday  morning  I 
met  a  cousin  of  ours,  a  Lady  Mary  Milton,  and  she 
insisted  on  my  coming  to  her  reception  in  the  evening. 
It  seemed  so  strange  to  me  to  be  in  a  fashionable  con- 
course of  people.  I  found  out  I  am  not  made  to  ' 
shine  in  society.  Everybody  seemed  to  be  so  much 
alive,  but  in  quite  a  different  sense  to  the  wideawake- 
ness  of  our  colonial  friends.  There  was  an  aroma  of 
scented  existence,  I  can't  express  it  in  any  other 
way." 


•j2  A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY. 

"  Is  Lady  Mary  the  wife  of  Mr.  Milton,  the  great 
portrait  painter  ?  Your  sister  told  me  she  was  related 
to  her." 

"Yes,  and  he  was  there,  of  course.  A  simple, 
good  sort  of  fellow." 

"  How  delightful,  Brice !  I  like  artists  and  clever 
people,  and  I  am  sure  I  should  enjoy  all  that  London 
world  I  know  so  little  of.  I  am  glad  they  are  ^a/- 
relations. And  did  you  see  pretty  girls  in  plenty  ? " 

"  I  suppose  so  ;  I  am  not  a  good  judge,  and  failed  to 
recognise  the  merit  of  one  of  Lady  Mary's  favourites." 

"  Stupid  Brice  !     And  you  admired  nobody  ? " 

"  Yes,  one  person,  but — " 

"But  what?" 

"  She  was  a  woman  of  forty,  I  should  imagine." 

"  A  woman  of  forty  !     How  very  old." 

"  She  did  not  look  '  very  old,'  I  assure  you ;  the 
younger  beauties  were  nowhere  beside  her." 

Griselda  laughed,  a  clear  happy  laugh.  "Then 
you  did  notice  somebody,  sir !  and  you  pretended  in- 
difference. Look,  there  is  the  dear  Lodge!  don't  you 
like  that  lovely  old  brick  colour?  It  is  an  Eliza- 
bethan house,  I  believe.  I  have  a  turret  chamber, 
and  it  is  all  a  delight  and  a  romance;  but  isn't  it 
strange,  mamma  is  now  always  regretting  the  New 
Zealand  farm  ?  She  is  a  little  bored  by  society,  but 
I'm  not ;  I  like  it  all — everything,  and  papa  is  happy 
too.  He  shows  me  where  he  caught  his  first  fish  and 
where  he  shot  his  first  crow.  Look,  the  doors  are  all 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  73 

open  as  in  the  old  days ;  come  in.  It  is  only  seven 
o'clock,  and  dinner  is  not  till  half-past.  You  will 
stay,  of  course,  but  I'm  afraid  everybody  is  still  out 
this  lovely  evening." 

"  No,  I  must  not  stay.  I  have  strayed  already  too 
far,  but  to  find  you  on  my  path  by  that  happy  chance, 
was — " 

"  It  was  too  delightful  to  be  chance.  Shall  I  own 
it,  Brice  ? — I  was  thinking  of  you  when  I  was  float- 
ing down  the  canal.  It  was  because  of  you  that  I 
grounded." 

"  Because  of  me !  What  an  idea  !  am  I  to  believe 
that,  Miss  Foy  ? " 

"As  you  like,  but  it  is  true.  Brice,  one  minute; 
come  into  our  hall;  I  want  to  show  you  the  motto 
carved  deep  over  the  oak  mantelpiece.  It  is  very  old 
and  the  carving  is  deep  and  black  with  age.  I  won- 
der which  of  our  ancestors  had  it  put  there." 

The  two  entered  the  hall  where  there  was  a  gen- 
eral look  of  old  carving,  quaint  nooks  and  panels  of 
various  ages.  A  great  open  hearth  seemed  to  wel- 
come the  guests,  and  an  overhanging  carved  pyram- 
idal mantelshelf  displayed  the  ancient  motto  Gri- 
selda  had  mentioned. 

"  Look,  Brice,  there  it  is,  you  know  it,"  and  Brice 
Leslie  read  it  aloud  with  a  strange  new  feeling  of 
never  having  understood  it  till  this  moment. 

' '  A  Dieu  Foy 
Aux  amis  Foyer." 


74  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  Those  old  folks  believed  in  mysticism  and  quaint 
devices,  were  great  at  punning,  and  this  one  is  charm- 
ing. Good-night,  dear  Griselda,  I  will  come  back  as 
soon  as  I  can;  I  must  go  now." 

"  O  Brice !  mind  you  do  come  back  as  soon  as  ever 
you  can." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BRICE  LESLIE'S  parents  were  of  a  type  which  calls 
for  little  description.  Highly  to  be  respected  and 
unimaginative,  they  had  not  encouraged  poetical  de- 
velopment in  their  two  children,  and  had  not  Brice 
left  home  early  and  learnt  from  the  world  of  thought 
and  the  world  of  men  the  complex  nature  of  all  life, 
he  might  have  become  another  Admiral  Leslie  with- 
out the  worthy  sailor's  vocabulary.  The  old  man  was 
now  a  prisoner  in  the  sickroom,  a  martyr  to  rheumatic 
gout,  and  other  maladies.  He  never  left  his  chamber, 
and  his  wife  rarely  left  him.  As  for  Brice's  sister,  it 
might  almost  be  said  that  Miss  Leslie  had  always 
been  an  old  maid.  She  was  quite  content  to  look 
after  her  district,  to  walk  for  miles  with  no  object  in 
country  lanes,  to  write  the  family  letters,  order  the 
household,  and,  by  way  of  special  entertainment,  to 
exchange  stories  of  the  delinquencies  of  servants  with 
her  neighbours.  She  did  not  read  much,  declaring 
she  had  no  leisure  for  this  pastime,  as  if  reading  were 
a  sinful  amusement  and  knowledge  to  be  lightly  es- 
teemed. Brice  had  gone  to  the  colonies  when  quite  a 
young  man.  He  had  seldom  had  a  holiday,  and  he 


76 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


was  now  altogether  out  of  his  element  at  home.  His 
sister  tried  hard  to  hide  her  intense  dislike  of  muddy 
boots,  but  she  experienced  a  decided  feeling  of  irrita- 
tion at  having  Brice  about  the  house.  Her  feminine 
mind  had  become  wedded  to  "  high  tea "  at  varying 
hours,  to  suit  varying  village  classes,  so  that  she  con- 
sidered dinner  and  bottled  stout  irksome  innovations; 
therefore  she  was  not  at  all  sorry  about  her  brother's 
constant  visits  to  Foy  Lodge. 

Miss  Leslie  liked  Griselda  Foy.  She  said  she  was 
interesting  and  pretty,  but  she  rode  too  much  across 
country  and  had  curious  tastes.  No  doubt  New  Zea- 
land must  be  a  strange  place,  it  was  wonderful  Miss 
Foy  was  as  ladylike  as  she  was.  Of  course  Miss  Les- 
lie did  not  dream  of  love  between  the  two.  Brice 
was  a  man,  and  in  her  eyes  Griselda  was  a  child. 
Brice  went  to  talk  and  walk  with  Mr.  Foy ;  of  course 
the  two  were  old  friends  and  enjoyed  discussions 
about  farming.  She  considered  Mr.  Foy  wonderfully 
well  educated,  considering  he  had  lived  so  much  out 
there,  though  Mrs.  Foy  was  decidedly  colonial ;  she 
treated  everybody  alike,  and  had  not  learnt  what  was 
due  to  old  families — such,  for  instance,  as  the  Leslies, 
who  were,  if  poor,  quite  as  good  as  the  Foys.  This 
was  Mary  Leslie,  an  ordinary  type  of  the  ordinary 
woman. 

Brice  listened  to  a  good  deal  of  this  sort  of  talk 
after  his  people  had  got  over  their  first  surprise  at 
his  sudden  arrival.  His  father  did  not  like  to  see  him 


A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY. 


77 


for  more  than  ten  minutes  at  a  time,  and  his  mother 
was  not  to  be  spared  from  the  invalid's  room.  What 
would  Brice  have  done  without  the  Foys  ?  Everyone 
was  satisfied.  Once  Mary  Leslie  remarked,  "  When 
the  season  is  over,  Lady  Mary  Milton  will  come  to 
Rosehill,  her  new  house.  It  is  in  Surrey,  a  ten-miles' 
drive  from  here,  but  it  takes  you  more  than  an  hour 
and  a  half  by  train.  Railway  companies  do  such  fool- 
ish things.  I  hope,  if  you  had  surveyed  for  them, 
Brice,  you  would  have  been  more  sensible  than  to 
put  stations  at  inconvenient  distances.  Anyhow,  you 
must  call  on  the  Miltons,  as  you  went  to  their  party." 

"  Ten  miles  is  a  prohibitive  distance  for  calling," 
said  Brice. 

"  Not  for  you,  of  course  it  is  for  us ;  besides,  I 
don't  like  artists  and  people  of  that  sort.  They  are 
always  so  irreligious.  Still  you  won't  mind  that — men 
never  do." 

Brice  did  not  argue  the  point,  he  sauntered  off  to 
Foy  Lodge. 

Griselda  at  least  was  bright  and  cheerful.  Mr. 
Foy  was  still  radiant  about  his  new  possessions,  and 
Mrs.  Foy  doubly  fearful  about  everything,  especially 
fearful  of  losing  what  they  had  just  acquired.  She 
said  her  husband  was  very  extravagant,  and  Horace 
was  at  Winchester — such  an  expensive  school — and 
Evie's  governess  was  certainly  not  worth  ^100  a 
year,  which  seemed  a  great  deal  for  simply  teaching 
one  girl. 


78  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

It  was  only  Griselda  who  fitted  into  her  new  posi- 
tion as  if  nature  had  especially  intended  her  for  it. 
The  beauty  of  the  place  harmonised  with  her  poetical 
character,  besides  she  was  so  young  and  so  hopeful, 
so  trusting  and  yet  so  diffident  of  her  own  powers 
that  there  was  nothing  stereotyped  about  her  actions. 
This  diffidence  of  youth  is  a  beautiful  thing.  It  has  a 
touch  of  humility,  allied  to  a  certain  directness  of  aim 
which  older  people  lose,  because  after  a  time  they  see 
so  many  reasons  for  and  against  almost  every  action. 
They  learn  to  suspect  human  nature  and  its  power  of 
resistance,  but  at  one-and-twenty  we  have  little  doubt 
of  our  own  judgment,  and  none  at  all  about  our 
power  of  carrying  our  decisions  into  execution. 

A  week  after  her  meeting  with  Brice  Leslie,  Gri- 
selda Foy  stood  on  the  steps  of  Foy  Lodge,  and  as  the 
horses  came  round  from  the  stable  her  cheeks  flushed 
with  pleasure  and  a  smile  was  on  her  lips.  She  and 
Brice  were  going  for  a  ride,  just  such  a  long  ride  as 
they  had  been  accustomed  to  have  in  New  Zealand. 
They  were  going  anywhere,  everywhere  that  was  per- 
missible across  country,  through  hedge  gaps  and  over 
the  wild  heather.  Brice  rode  well,  and  the  two  knew 
each  other's  ways  so  thoroughly,  that  as  they  rode 
they  could  talk  for  any  length  of  time  about  the  past 
and  about  the  future.  No  wonder  that  this  was  to  be 
a  red-letter  day  for  Griselda,  and  that  Brice  felt  like  a 
preux  chevalier  as  he  helped  her  into  her  saddle. 

Mr.  Foy  was  a  tall,  grave,  kindly  man — a  gentle- 


A   WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


79 


man  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  because  all  the 
crust  of  false  customs  had  been  broken  through  dur- 
ing his  colonial  life.  He  stood  at  this  moment  on  the 
steps  of  Foy  Lodge  and  looked  at  the  two  riders  with 
undisguised  pride.  Brice  Leslie  was,  he  thought,  such 
a  clever,  thoughtful  man,  a  man  who  would  some  day 
win  recognition  from  the  world.  He  was  not  rich,  as 
some  count  riches,  but  the  two  would  be  happy — that 
was  the  chief  thing.  Brice  had  cared  about  Griselda 
so  long,  and  to-day  the  elder  man  had  just  given  his 
consent  for  Brice  to  speak  decidedly  to  Griselda ;  but 
he  still  wished  the  real  engagement  to  be  kept  private, 
for  Mr.  Foy  had  old-fashioned  ideas  about  mourning. 
It  was  too  soon  after  his  brother  and  nephew's  sad 
death  to  be  marrying  his  daughter ;  besides,  Griselda 
ought  to  see  the  world  a  little — she  was  too  young  to 
settle  down  at  once  to  married  life.  So  Mr.  Foy  had 
begun  the  subject  with  Brice  and  told  him  that  he  and 
his  wife  had  settled  that  the  private  engagement  must 
still  hold  good,  but  that  he  might  now  really  speak  to 
Griselda  about  the  future. 

"  Take  her  for  a  ride,  my  dear  fellow,  and  settle  it 
with  her  in  your  own  way,  you  know.  My  little  Gri- 
selda will  never  even  look  at  another  man  as  long  as 
you  are  near — that  is  certain,  I  am  sure,  though  on 
this  matter  her  mother  disagrees  with  me.  Hers  is  a 
very  warm,  steadfast  little  heart." 

Griselda   did   not    know    these    words    had    been 

spoken,  but  she  knew  she  was  going  to  have  a  good 
6 


80  A  WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 

time  with  Brice,  and  to  be  with  him  was  for  her  pure, 
unalloyed  happiness.  She  loved  him  with  all  her  heart 
and  soul. 

Strange  to  say,  now  that  the  prize  was  within  his 
grasp,  that  the  sweetest  woman  he  had  ever  known 
might  be  his,  Brice  felt  a  certain  reluctance  to  break 
the  charm  that  had  united  them,  a  charm  which  at  this 
moment  seemed  to  him  better  than  a  formal  engage- 
ment. Then  the  feeling  suddenly  changed  as  they 
galloped  away  in  the  morning  sunshine.  It  was  a 
pleasure  to  see  Griselda  seated  on  horseback.  Her 
young  figure,  perfectly  proportioned,  had  acquired  a 
flexibility  which  only  an  out-of-door  life,  unfettered 
by  tight  waists  or  fashionable  enormities,  can  give. 
Griselda  could  even  outrun  her  brother  Horace,  and 
could  ride  all  day  without  being  tired.  Brice  gloried 
in  her  powers,  and  to  be  once  again  by  her  side,  to 
note  the  glow  on  the  soft  rounded  cheek,  the  kindling 
of  the  honest  grey  eyes,  the  sway  of  the  figure  in  per- 
fect rhythmic  movement  with  the  motions  of  the  horse 
— this  added  to  the  enchantment  which  he  now  experi- 
enced. Sometimes  they  rode  close  side  by  side,  some- 
times finding  strange  gaps  or  narrow  heath  paths  they 
were  separated,  sometimes  even  it  was  Griselda  who 
took  the  lead  and  cleared  a  heather  bank  or  a  hurdle 
fence  with  the  ease  and  experience  of  fearless  horse- 
manship. 

"  Brice,  this  is  perfect ;  let  us  go  on  and  on  into 
Surrey.  I  warned  mamma  not  to  expect  us  till  quite 


A   WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  gl 

late.  We  will  have  a  real  New  Zealand  day.  You 
know  the  village  of  Ray  wood ;  it  is  the  sweetest  of 
places,  and  we  can  put  up  the  horses  there  and  go 
and  see  a  cousin  of  ours,  Mrs.  Hope,  who  is  the  wife 
of  the  clergyman.  We  have  called  on  them  and  they 
on  us  several  times." 

Griselda  was  just  in  front  of  him  and  therefore  did 
not  notice  the  slight  frown  that  knitted  her  lover  s 
brows.  Raywood  was  the  village  where  the  Miltons 
had  a  house,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  go  near  Rosehill. 

"  Will  it  be  too  far  for  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Too  far !  No,  indeed.  Oh,  the  joy  of  going  on 
and  on,  and  with  you  too,  Brice — why,  it's  just  per- 
fection." 

Perhaps  the  girl's  love  and  admiration  were  a  little 
too  visible.  Her  devotion  wanted  the  touch  of  uncer- 
tainty which  has  a  charm  for  some  natures.  Brice 
forgot  at  this  moment  that  her  love  had  been  growing 
for  years,  and  that  he  had  diligently  cultivated  it. 
What  was  it  that  had  made  him  just  out  of  touch  with 
the  old  idyllic  feeling  which  had  till  now  so  much  fas- 
cinated him  ? 

"  It  shall  be  just  as  you  like,  my  little  girl.  I  can't 
tell  you  how  delightful  it  is  to  go  over  my  boyish 
haunts  with  you."  He  said  this  and  meant  it,  but 
there  was  not  much  passion  in  the  words  or  in  the 
feeling. 

"  You  never  guessed  then  that  there  was  such  a 
person  as  Griselda  Foy,  did  you  ?  " 


52  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  Never  !     Why,  you  were  not  born." 

"When  you  were  nine  years  old  I  was  not;  but 
after  that —  Isn't  it  strange  that  somewhere  in  the 
world  a  person  may  be  living  who  holds  your — well, 
almost  your  life  in  their  hands?"  Griselda's  grey 
eyes  clouded  over;  the  beauty  of  the  fir- woods,  the 
scent  of  the  heather  treasures  brought  strange 
thoughts  into  her  brain.  Fate's  chilly  finger  was 
touching  her,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  even  though 
she  did  not  know  it  or  understand  it. 

"  Those  ideas  make  one  giddy." 

"  No ;  they  are  delightful.  I  remember  so  many 
sweet  things  about  you,  Brice.  I  remember  when  you 
first  made  me  care  about  poetry ;  I  remember  the  first 
time  you  said  life  was  not  all  joy.  Till  then  I  thought 
it  was  one  sweet,  long  holiday,  and  really  I  sometimes 
doubt  whether  now  even  I  understand  that  it  is  any- 
thing else,  but  I  ought  to  do  so." 

"  What  a  child  you  are  still,  Griselda !  " 

"No,  no,  I'm  a  woman  now — I  know  there  is  sor- 
row, and  I  want  to  do  all  I  can  to  make  it  less  in  the 
world;  but  I  am  so  stupid,  and  I  can  do  so  little.  I 
comfort  myself  with  thinking  z\\you  have  done.  How 
kind  you  were  to  that  poor  Mr.  Percy  Chester  when 
he  was  so  ill." 

"  Kind  !  He  was  my  friend,  Griselda ;  you  know 
I  was  intensely  fond  of  him  ;  I  admired  him  im- 
mensely." 

"  Yes,  I   know,  I   wonder   why  ?     Do   you   know, 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  83 

Brice,  I  always  rather  disliked  him.  Of  course  he  was 
handsome,  and  all  that,  but — " 

"  He  was  not  perfect,  and  you  believe  in  perfection 
too  much." 

"  Do  I  ?  Well,  yes,  I  would  rather  believe  it  is 
possible  to  be  perfect.  In  fact,  I  know  it  is.  Now, 
Brice,  for  a  gallop  on  this  lovely  moor.  Isn't  this 
glorious,  and  we  are  quite  alone." 

Life  is  a  wonderful  fact,  a  mysterious  strange  real- 
ity, a  dream  of  possibilities,  a  contradiction  in  its  very 
fleetingness;  esteemed  so  lightly  when  young,  clung 
to  so  persistently  when  old,  and  seldom  made  use  of 
to  its  fullest  capability.  Griselda,  at  this  moment  and 
indeed  always,  saw  it  bathed  in  golden  light,  whilst 
Brice,  having  one  of  love's  rare  treasures  at  his  feet, 
was  doubtful  whether  it  were  altogether  worth  picking 
up.  The  perversity  of  humanity  is  often  as  wonderful 
as  its  powerlessness  to  cope  with  facts. 

On  and  on  they  rode  till  at  last  the  village  of  Ray- 
wood  appeared  in  sight.  It  nestled  at  the  foot  of  a 
wooded  hill ;  a  stream  ran  through  it  necessitating 
little  bridges  flung  across  the  water  to  give  access  to 
some  of  the  cottages.  In  the  near  distance  the  hops 
in  the  hop-gardens  were  displaying  their  lovely  gar- 
lands, as  if  ashamed  of  the  straight  unpoetical  poles 
which  supported  them. 

"  Now,  Brice,  look  ;  do  you  see  that  house  with  the 
stream  running  through  its  lawn  ?  That  is  Rosehill. 
It  is  small,  but  nearly  perfect.  It  is  your  Lady  Mary 


84 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


Milton's  house,  I  believe.  Further  on  is  the  vicarage, 
where  the  Hopes,  our  cousins,  live.  Shall  we  lunch 
there,  or  make  a  picnic  of  it  and  imagine  we  are  at  the 
antipodes? " 

At  this  moment  they  reached  the  entrance  of  a 
narrow  lane,  and  quite  unexpectedly  a  heavy  cart 
issued  out  of  it,  just  crossing  their  path.  Griselda's 
horse  was  startled,  and  she,  not  dreaming  of  danger, 
was  holding  the  reins  loosely,  so  that  she  was  not  able 
to  prevent  a  sudden  wheeling  motion  of  her  horse 
against  the  cart.  There  followed  a  plunge,  a  desperate 
dash,  and  in  another  moment  Griselda  was  thrown  off 
her  horse  and  lay  on  the  road.  Brice's  horse  had  also 
shied,  but  happily  there  was  just  room  for  it  to  dash 
forward  instead  of  against  the  cart,  and  when  Brice 
pulled  in  his  steed  and  turned  its  head  it  was  to  see 
his  Griselda  lying  on  the  ground. 

In  a  moment  he  had  dismounted,  flung  the  reins  to 
the  foolish  carter,  and  bidden  the  boy  if  possible  to 
catch  the  other  horse.  Then  he  was  kneeling  beside 
her. 

"  Griselda,  my  darling,  are  you  hurt  ? "  He  raised 
her  up,  and  saw  she  was  very  pale ;  her  eyes  were 
shut — was  she  dead  ?  He  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  to  a  cottage  opposite.  The  door  was  open, 
only  a  stone-deaf  old  woman  who  could  not  move 
from  her  chair  was  within,  but  there  was  a  couch  in 
the  corner  and  he  laid  her  there,  and  hurried  to  fetch 
some  water. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  8$ 

In  a  few  moments  Griselda  opened  her  eyes  and 
smiled  to  see  Brice's  anxious  face  above  her. 

"  Oh  Brice  !  it  is  nothing — did  I  fall  ?  How  silly 
of  me  !  Hurt  ?  Oh  no,  only  I  feel  a  little  giddy." 

"  Lie  still  there,  darling.  Yes,  it  was  that  fool  of  a 
carter.  Oh,  it's  all  right," — for  Griselda  looked  ques- 
tioningly  towards  the  old  woman. 

"  She  is  as  deaf  as  a  post  and  can't  move.  The 
family  has  gone  shopping.  Are  you  sure,  quite  sure, 
you  are  not  hurt  ?" 

"  Quite  sure.     I  can  get  up.     May  I  ?  " 

Brice  was  sitting  beside  her,  pale  and  troubled. 
He  had  had  a  terrible  fright ;  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  an 
angel  had  been  by  his  side  and  had  nearly  taken  flight, 
without  his  having  the  power  to  hold  her  back. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said,  stooping  down — no  longer 
the  quiet,  grave  Brice,  but  quite  another  person — "  my 
darling,  put  your  arms  round  my  neck,  so,  never  mind 
anything.  Don't  you  know  your  father  has  at  last 
given  me  the  right  to  take  care  of  you  ?  It  is  no 
longer  a  possibility  and  all  that  humbug,  at  least  be- 
tween ourselves."  He  put  his  strong  arms  round  her, 
and  in  so  doing,  for  one  moment,  his  lips  touched 
hers.  It  was  their  first  kiss,  and  given  under  such 
strange  circumstances  that  the  blood  rushed  back  to 
her  cheeks,  and  Griselda's  life  was  instantly  beautified, 
altered,  raised  out  of  the  purity  and  ignorance  of 
youth  into  the  greater  purity  of  conscious  self-sur- 
render. But  even  at  this  moment  she  was  troubled  by 


86  A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 

the  new  awakening  and  was  shyly  standing  up  a  little 
away  from  Brice  arranging  her  hat  when  a  shadow  fell 
across  the  doorway  and  a  voice  said — a  voice  that 
sounded  like  a  soft  ripple  of  clear  water — 

"  What  is  the  matter,  what  has  happened,  can  I  be 
of  any  help  ?  " 

Brice  turned  round  with  some  feeling  of  annoyance. 
He  would  have  liked  to  be  quite  alone  with  Griselda 
now  and  always,  or  so  he  fancied,  and  then  suddenly 
he  was  surprised  into  a  smile,  for  Lady  Mary  Milton 
stood  before  him. 

"  Mr.  Leslie  !  you  here,  and — " 

"  Miss  Foy  has  met  with  an  accident,  but  I  hope  it 
is  nothing." 

"  Miss  P'oy  of  Foy  Lodge  ! — ah,  I  knew  your  uncle, 
so  I  may  say  I  am  a  friend  of  the  family,  besides  being 
a  cousin  of  Mr.  Leslie  ;  this  surely  gives  me  the  right 
to  give  orders.  How  fortunate  I  am  down  here  for 
the  day,  so  I  can  say,  Come  to  Rosehill  at  once.  We 
were  on  the  lawn  and  saw  something  had  happened, 
but  how  strange  it  should  be  you  ?  I  have  an  im- 
promptu luncheon  ready,  and  if  you  like,  Miss  Foy, 
you  can  lie  down  at  your  ease.  I  think  I  can  offer 
you  something  better  than  old  Betty's  hospitality." 

Griselda  was  still  feeling  giddy,  so  that  she  had  to 
lean  on  Brice's  arm  whilst  they  crossed  the  road  and  en- 
tered the  private  walk  leading  up  to  Rosehill.  Her  habit 
was  torn  and  would  have  to  be  mended.  So  she  was 
very  grateful  for  Lady  Mary's  kind,  womanly  attention. 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  87 

"  Come  in  this  back  way,  we  shall  meet  no  one. 
In  fact  there  is  only  an  old  housekeeper  here.  I've 
come  down  just  to  settle  about  things.  How  fortu- 
nate! Now  come  up  stairs  with  me,  Miss  Foy,  and 
you  shall  lie  down  and  have  some  wine.  Mr.  Leslie, 
you  will  find  your  way  to  the  dining-room ;  I  will  soon 
come  back.  By  the  way,  the  disgraced  horses  were 
caught  and  I  ordered  them  to  be  taken  to  our  stables." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Brice,  from  the  bottom  of  his 
heart.  "  You  are  a  true  friend  in  need." 

"  You  could  not  flatter  me  more.  There's  the 
Times  on  the  writing-table,  unfortunately  it  is  the 
Times  of  one  day  last  year,  but  you  won't  object  to 
stale  news,  being  a  returned  New  Zealander.  Each 
summer  when  we  return  this  place  is  like  the  palace  of 
the  sleeping  Beauty." 

The  two  ladies  disappeared,  and  Brice  walked  into 
the  dining-room  where  a  small  table  was  laid  for  two 
persons.  No  one  was  in  the  room,  and  Brice  won- 
dered when  Mr.  Milton  would  turn  up;  then,  feeling 
too  anxious  to  sit  down,  he  went  and  stood  by  the 
window  and  gazed  out  upon  the  lawn  and  upon  the 
lovely  view  beyond.  The  mid-day  sun  added  a  semi- 
transparent  haze  to  the  prospect.  The  distant  blue 
was  soft  and  grey,  and  Nature  seemed  to  be  half 
asleep,  only  just  enough  awake  to  rejoice  in  its  happi- 
ness. Brice  was  himself  still  feeling  the  pressure  of 
Griselda's  lips.  She  was  still  such  a  beautiful  child, 
that  it  seemed  almost  wrong  to  awaken  in  her  this 


88  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

new  passionate  life — that  is,  if  it  were  there  to 
awaken.  Some  beings  are  perhaps  born  passionless, 
so  Brice  meditated ;  was  Griselda  one  of  them  ?  But 
what  did  it  matter — she  was  his,  his  in  the  beautiful 
future,  his  to  work  for  and  to  love.  Suddenly  he 
looked  down  to  find  his  hand  resting  on  a  little  book 
in  a  paper  cover,  which  some  one  had  been  reading 
and  had  laid  open,  face  downward,  upon  the  table. 
He  ventured  to  take  it  up,  and  he  found  it  was  a  book 
of  old  French  poems.  He  read  the  one  on  the  page. 
It  was  by  Fabre  d*  Eglantine,  one  of  the  poets  sacri- 
ficed by  the  Revolution.  The  verses  began  thus — 

"  Je  t'aime  tant,  je  t'aime  tant 
Je  ne  puis  assez  te  le  dire, 
Je  le  repete  pourtant 
A  chaque  fois  que  je  respire. 
Absent,  present,  de  pres,  de  loin, 
Je  t'aime  est  le  mot  que  je  trouve  ; 
Ou  je  le  pense  ou  je  le  trouve." 

He  read  on  for  three  more  verses ;  the  very  words 
seemed  to  have  been  written  by  a  man  who,  like  him- 
self, had  just  won  a  precious  love;  and  yet,  strange  to 
say,  they  did  not  strike  an  answering  chord  in  his 
heart.  "  Perhaps  they  are  too  fanciful  for  an  English- 
man," he  said  to  himself — 

"  Ton  coaur  m'est  tout,  mon  bien,  ma  loi ; 
Je  plaire  est  toute  mon  envie  ; 
Enfin,  en  toi,  par  toi,  pour  toi, 
Je  respire  et  tiens  a  la  vie. 
Ma  bien-aime'e,  O  mon  tresor  ! 
Qu'ajouterais-je  a  ce  langage  ? 
Dieu  !  que  je  t'aime  !     Eh  bien  !  encore 
Je  voudrais  t'aimer  davantage." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


89 


There  was  a  step  outside,  and,  as  if  he  were  guilty 
of  some  evil  deed,  Brice  replaced  the  book  in  the 
position  he  had  found  it.  Lady  Mary  must  not  see 
him  reading  a  love-song,  or  she  might  guess  the  truth 
about  Griselda.  The  door  opened,  and  he  turned 
round  hastily. 

"  How  is  she  ? "  He  paused,  a  strange  cold 

shiver  passed  through  him,  for  in  the  doorway, 
dressed  in-  some  soft  black  lace  material,  which  en- 
hanced her  beauty,  a  large  plumed  hat  that  softened 
the  slight  sternness  of  the  features,  and  one  exquisite 
rose  in  her  bosom,  stood  Magdalen  Cuthbert !  She 
too  paused  and  said  nothing ;  but  her  face  flushed, 
her  lips  were  firmly  pressed  together,  as  if  to  force 
them  to  suppress  a  sudden  exclamation  as  she  walked 
grandly  towards  him,  saying  quite  calmly  and  quite 
indifferently — 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Leslie  ?  I  did  not  expect  to 
see  you  here  to-day." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MAGDALEN  CUTHBERT  had  come  down  with  Lady 
Mary  to  Rosehill  for  the  day.  It  was  true  she  had 
promised  to  stay  with  her  in  July,  but  she  was  already 
repenting  of  her  promise,  and  trying  to  excuse  her- 
self, being  extremely  changeable  about  her  plans. 
Since  that  meeting  with  Brice  Leslie  she  had  lived  in 
a  dream.  Any  great  excitement  plunged  her  into  one 
of  her  strangest  moods,  therefore  she  longed  for  quiet 
— the  intense  quiet  of  the  country ;  but  yet,  when  she 
got  it,  it  merely  seemed  to  paralyse  her,  and  she  felt 
forced  to  plunge  once  more  into  the  whirlpool  of 
society  in  order  to  live,  or  rather  to  feel  alive.  She 
knew  nothing  of  Lady  Mary's  invitation  to  Brice 
Leslie  to  meet  her,  so  at  this  moment  she  was  entirely 
taken  by  surprise,  and  her  astonishment  was  not  in 
the  least  feigned.  She  had  seen  the  accident  from 
the  lawn,  but  as  Lady  Mary  and  the  gardener  had 
hurried  out  to  offer  help,  she  had  settled  that  she  was 
not  wanted.  Her  energy -was  not  often  concentrated 
on  persons  in  trouble.  Illness  repelled  her  and 
caused  her  positive  discomfort,  just  as  some  people 
are  affected  by  the  presence  of  a  cat  in  the  room  or  a 
spider  on  the  wall. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  91 

She  had  since  heard  from  the  maid  that  the  lady, 
whose  horse  had  shied,  was  shaken  but  not  seriously 
hurt,  and  that  Lady  Mary  sent  her  word  to  go  down- 
stairs and  begin  luncheon,  and  she  would  join  her 
presently.  Accordingly,  she  had  come  down,  and 
then,  suddenly,  she  found  herself  in  the  presence  of 
the  man  who  had  caused  all  the  renewal  of  her  pain. 
She  remembered  every  word  spoken  at  their  last  in- 
terview, for  it  had  been  burnt  into  her  brain.  She 
remembered  the  intense  indignation  her  flippancy  had 
called  up  on  his  calm,  handsome,  kindly  face.  Brice 
Leslie's  face,  she  thought,  was  not  of  an  ordinary  type ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  was  full  of  character.  He  was  a 
man  of  few  words,  who  could  not  bandy  compliments 
with  the  easy  carelessness  of  half  the  men  she  met ;  a 
man  who  had  been  able  to  rouse  her,  and  to  punish 
her  as  no  other  man  had  been  able  to  do  since  Percy 
had  forsaken  her.  It  was  only  through  his  knowledge 
of  Percy  that  he  had  done  so,  but  the  experience  was 
new  to  her.  It  impressed  the  man  on  her  mind ;  she 
could  never  forget  him  as  she  forgot  so  many  of  the 
masculine  gender  who  paid  her  attentions  and  over 
whom  she  often  exercised  an  unfortunate  influence. 
Now  he  stood  before  her,  and  they  were  alone.  The 
chance  she  had  stooped  to  ask  for  was  hers,  though 
she  was  far  too  proud  ever  to  have  asked  again  for  it, 
even  if  she  must  die  without  finding  out  what  she  so 
intensely  longed  to  know. 

It  was  true  that  Mr.  Leslie  stood  before  her — but 


92 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


of  what  use  was  that  ?  What  could  she  say  to  him, 
and  how  beg  for  news  of  Percy  ?  All  this  flashed 
through  her  mind,  but  she  was  not  going  to  be  a 
second  time  taken  by  surprise.  She  decided  that  she 
would  make  him  forget  her  previous  request,  and  then 
when  he  was  off  his  guard  she  would  draw  it  out  of 
him.  The  idea  of  conquest  for  the  mere  sake  of  amuse- 
ment brought  back  her  full  self-possession.  Once  more 
she  was  the  sparkling,  handsome  Miss  Cuthbert,  a 
woman  with  every  talent  and  more  than  her  full  share 
of  beauty;  a  woman  who,  being  no  longer  young, 
knew  the  force  of  every  word  she  used  and  the  effect 
of  every  pose  she  affected.  After  her  indifferent  greet- 
ing to  Brice,  she  added — 

"  I  never  imagined  that  you  were  connected  with 
the  accident,  Mr.  Leslie.  You  were  riding  with  a  lady ; 
I  hope  she  is  not  much  hurt  ? " 

Magdalen  held  out  her  hand  with  a  graciousness 
of  word  and  action  which  Brice  was  quite  unpre- 
pared for.  There  was  no  scorn,  no  banter  in  her 
tone,  only  intense  sympathy  and  charming  polite- 
ness. Brice  was  charmed,  but  he  was  on  his 
guard. 

"  I  was  riding  with  Miss  Foy,  whose  father  is  a 
neighbour  of  ours,  and  who  is  also  a  New  Zealand 
friend,  and  so  I  need  hardly  add  that  she  is  a  perfect 
horsewoman ;  but  accidents  will  happen  even  to  the 
best  riders." 

"But  she  is  not  hurt?" 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


93 


"  Not  seriously ;  I  was  frightened  for  a  moment, 
but  it  is  nothing." 

"  I  am  very  glad,  but  in  the  meanwhile  you  must 
be  hungry,  so  let  us  eat."  She  rang  the  bell,  and  in  a 
few  moments  she  was  acting  hostess  with  the  perfect 
grace  of  a  woman  accustomed  to  entertain.  On  his 
side  Brice  made  a  great  exertion  to  appear  perfectly 
natural  and  perfectly  self-possessed.  In  reality  he  felt 
neither,  but  he  could  have  given  no  exact  reason  why 
he  should  feel  embarrassed.  It  was  more  the  recollec- 
tion that  she  had  attracted  him  powerfully  that  first 
evening  of  his  return  to  England  than  any  present  feel- 
ing which  made  him  feel  shy,  for,  at  this  moment,  Miss 
Cuthbert  was  too  natural  to  be  dangerous.  He  found 
himself  wondering  why  he  had  thought  her  so  artificial. 
There  was  very  evident  softness  about  her  now,  almost 
a  childlike  confidence  that  was  bewitching  in  a  woman 
so  evidently  of  the  world  and  so  extremely  well 
dressed.  Contrast  has  always  a  certain  charm,  and  to 
find  a  great  lady  attired  in  the  height  of  fashion,  and 
yet  as  simple  as  a  mere  nobody,  gratifies  shy  people 
who  feel  their  own  shortcomings  in  the  ways  of  the 
world. 

Brice  was  grateful,  grateful  for  the  new  picture  of 
herself  she  was  giving  him,  and  grateful  too  that  she 
was  not  going  to  punish  him  for  his  last  rude  behaviour 
and  ill-mannered  speech.  They  began,  of  course,  to 
talk  of  the  beauty  of  Rosehill,  of  the  neighbourhood, 
of  the  prospect  of  the  hops ;  and  they  had  just  reached 


94  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

the  hop  dog  and  its  use  and  beauty  when  Lady  Mary 
herself  hurried  in. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  have  renewed  your  acquaint- 
ance," she  said,  with  her  brightest  smile,  immediately 
remembering  her  wager.  Here  was  the  very  oppor- 
tunity she  had  been  looking  for.  Magdalen  had  taken 
some  notice  of  the  New  Zealander,  and  the  New 
Zealander  had  naturally  been  struck  by  her  beauty. 
Doubtless  he  was  younger  than  Miss  Cuthbert,  but 
what  did  that  matter  ?  Any  man  might  be  glad  to  win 
her,  though  whether  he  could  manage  her  after  the 
knot  had  been  tied  was  another  question  and  purely 
his  affair.  The  real  difficulty  lay  with  Magdalen  her- 
self. She  had  flirted  up  to  a  certain  point  with  many 
men,  but  just  when  they  believed  themselves  safe  to 
win  they  found  her  bearing  towards  them  suddenly 
altered.  Then  she  drew  back;  sometimes  she  laughed, 
sometimes  she  seemed  utterly  bored,  and  sometimes 
even  she  forgot  them. 

"  She  has  never  really  loved  since  that  affair," 
Lady  Mary  said  to  herself,  feeling  she  knew  exactly 
where  the  fault  lay,  so  that  now  her  mission  was  to 
remedy  the  evil.  "  Let  these  two  be  together  for  a 
fortnight,  and  my  wager  is  won.  Magdalen  will  lose 
her  restless  discontent  and — well,  she  would  not  be  so 
afraid  of  the  venture  if  she  only  guessed  how  happy 
my  married  life  is,  and  how  Frank  lets  me  do  just  as  I 
like  in  everything.  That  is  the  kind  of  husband  she 
wants.  I  wonder  now  whether  Magdalen  would  lead 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


95 


him  a  life ;  she — well,  that's  not  in  my  bargain  "  ;  and 
with  these  thoughts  now  dancing  through  her  fertile 
brain  the  little  lady  sat  down  ready  to  carry  out  her 
plan.  She  loved  planning  and  contriving  marriages  as 
much  as  she  loved  giving  famous  parties,  and  she  had 
unfortunately  made  one  or  two  successful  hits.  In 
these  cases  success  is  a  dangerous  reward  and  tempts 
one  to  begin  again,  for  living  chess  pieces  are  far 
more  amusing  than  dumb  wood. 

It  was  thus  Lady  Mary  who  was  the  guilty  one ; 
but  how  was  she  to  know  that  that  child  upstairs,  with 
her  simplicity  and  her  gold-brown  hair  had  been  Brice 
Leslie's  love  for  years,  and  that  on  this  very  day  their 
lips  had  sealed  a  long-understood  contract  ?  In  all 
fairness  to  her  it  must  be  said  she  knew  nothing  of 
this,  and  strangely  enough  the  idea  never  passed 
through  her  head.  Brice's  self-possession  still  more 
hid  the  facts  of  the  case,  and  evidently  his  evil  star 
had  already  risen,  though  it  was  only  just  visible 
above  the  horizon. 

"  How  strange  !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Mary,  "  how 
very  strange  we  should  meet  again  here  by  accident, 
and  by  means  of  an  accident,  but  my  patient  upstairs 
is  doing  very  well.  She  has  had  some  champagne, 
and  is  now  lying  down.  I  believe  she  will  sleep  it  off. 
Do  you  know,  Mr.  Leslie,  that  your  bringing  Miss  Foy 
here  will  necessitate  my  calling  on  her  father  and 
mother.  What  sort  of  people  are  these  bush  folk  ? 
I  suppose  the  girl  has  been  to  school  in  England  ? " 
7 


96 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


Brice  ought  to  have  spoken  out  now.  He  ought 
to  have  said  that  he  was  that  day  a  fortunate  and  ac- 
cepted lover,  but  he  was  too  quiet  and  shy  to  enter 
into  particulars;  he  let  the  opportunity  slip;  besides, 
he  was  bound  to  silence  by  Mr.  Foy  himself. 

"  No,  you  see  before  you  a  real,  educated  New 
Zealand  young  lady.  Miss  Foy  is  in  England  this 
year  for  the  first  time." 

"  The  Foys  come  from  a  good  old  stock,  but  I 
hear  Mrs.  Foy  does  not  care  about  society.  You 
know  we  do  not  see  much  of  our  neighbours,  Magda- 
len, so  vegetating  here  may  bore  you." 

"  No,  I  love  the  country  ;  it  reminds  me  of  former 
days,"  and  Magdalen  gazed  dreamily  out  of  the 
window. 

"  Does  she  mean  it  ?  "  thought  Brice,  casting  a  fur- 
tive glance  at  her.  "  Strange  woman !  one  does  not 
know  when  she  is,  or  is  not,  in  earnest.  Of  course 
now  she  is  pretending,  for  how  can  she  like  a  country 
life  ?  Indeed,  she  told  me  she  did  not  like  quiet  when 
I  last  saw  her.  I  wish  Griselda  were  well  enough  to 
ride  home  at  once." 

"  My  dear,  you  are  getting  poetical.  If  you  had  a 
Frank  always  with  you,  you  would  soon  leave  poetry 
to  English  bards,  born,  I  suppose,  for  that  purpose, 
for  they  are  often  stupid  in  other  subjects.  When  I 
have  finished  my  lunch  I  will  take  you  to  the  summer- 
house,  and  you  shall  both  admire  the  view  at  your 
leisure.  My  New  Zealand  cousin  has,  as  the  ancients 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  97 

used  to  say,  the  poet's  dreamy  eye  and  sad  cast  of 
countenance.  I  daresay,  in  secret,  he  too  writes 
verses  to — "  Lady  Mary  was  going  to  say  "  to  his 
mistresses'  eyebrows,"  but  stopped  herself  in  time. 

"  I  love  poetry  too  much  to  write  it,"  said  Mag- 
dalen, rising  and  going  towards  the  window  ;  and  then 
she  became  conscious  of  the  French  book  turned  on 
its  face  upon  the  table,  and  slowly  closed  it.  For  all 
the  world  she  would  not  have  been  found  reading  it. 

"  That  remark,  Magdalen,  is  not  altogether  worldly- 
wise,"  said  Lady  Mary,  laughing,  and  her  laugh  was 
so  bright  and  good-humoured  it  seemed  to  make  sun- 
shine in  the  room.  "  For  my  part,  I  have  noticed  that 
it  is  the  very  unpoetical  people  who  '  adore '  poetry ; 
they  feel  the  lack  of  it  in  their  own  natures,  and  so 
supply  their  need  out  of  books." 

"Surely  not,"  said  Brice,  "you  can  have  no  real 
sympathy  with  poetry  unless  there  is  an  answering 
chord  in  your  own  mind." 

"  At  all  events,  it  is  a  dumb  string  till  another 
hand  strikes  it,"  said  Magdalen,  turning  round,  "but 
the  whole  credit  must  belong  solely  to  neither." 

Brice  looked  up  utterly  surprised.  Magdalen  had 
placed  herself  with  her  back  to  the  light ;  a  soft 
shade  was  over  her  face,  whilst  her  waving  hair  peeped 
out  from  beneath  her  large  plumed  hat.  She  looked 
like  a  picture  painted  by  Velasquez,  grander  and  more 
highly  coloured  than  a  Sir  Joshua.  There  was  so 
much  real  feeling,  such  an  apparent  depth  in  her  re- 


gg  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

mark,  that  it  seemed  impossible  she  was  merely  the 
society  Miss  Cuthbert  whom  he  had  met,  admired,  and 
scorned. 

"  If  the  hand  makes  discord,  the  string  is  blamed 
for  it,"  said  Brice,  carrying  on  the  idea. 

"  Avoid  metaphors,"  said  Lady  Mary.  "  I  assure 
you  it  is  brain  labour  lost.  A  woman  in  her  own  per- 
son, that  is,  in  her  words  and  actions,  outwits  all  phi- 
losophy." 

"  And  all  philosophers,"  added  Magdalen,  stepping 
out  of  the  French  window  upon  the  lawn,  and  fol- 
lowed by  the  other  two.  "  Tell  me,  Mr.  Leslie,  does 
New  Zealand  or  England  claim  your  greatest  affec- 
tion ? " 

"  England — home,"  said  Brice  quickly.  "  Even 
though  patriotism,  as  I  am  told,  is  a  worn-out  creed." 

"  Like  Christianity,  some  say,"  put  in  Magdalen 
lightly. 

"  But  I  only  know  that  as  one  steps  on  board  the 
ship  that  is  to  take  one  home  one's  throat  tightens, 
however  little  one  may  have  thought  of  it  previously." 

"  But  if  your  wife  and  family  remained  behind,  the 
feeling — supposing  you  cared  about  your  wife,  a  senti- 
ment slightly  behind  the  times — would  materially  less- 
en ;  therefore  it  is  not  true  patriotism,  it  is  the  love 
of  oneself  and  of  one's  own  concerns,"  said  Magdalen. 

"Then  you  do  not  believe  in  noble  feelings,"  an- 
swered Brice  shortly.  She  was  beginning  to  irritate 
him  again. 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY.  gg 

"  I  ?     Oh  yes  ! — when  I  find  them." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Leslie,"  put  in  Lady  Mary,  "  look  at  the 
view ;  from  here  you  can  see  the  castle  to  perfection. 
The  Duke  of  Blackwater's  place  is  always  a  nice  point 
for  artists ;  look  there,  on  the  side  furthest  away  to- 
wards your  home.  This  small  hill  with  a  summer 
house  was  Frank's  pet  scheme.  He  took  more  pains 
with  it  than  he  does  with  a  rich  sitter." 

"  Has  Mr.  Milton  taken  Miss  Cuthbert's  picture  ? " 
said  Brice,  seeing  Magdalen  in  a  new  light  as,  with 
one  hand  shading  her  eyes,  she  gazed  as  if  spellbound 
towards  the  beautiful  distance. 

"  No,  she  will  not  condescend  to  sit  to  him.  Be- 
tween ourselves,  it  is,  I  believe,  from  fear  of  not  being 
flattered  enough." 

Magdalen's  spirit  appeared  to  return  from  the  dis- 
tant view,  and,  dropping  her  hand,  she  smiled.  So  in- 
tensely sad  was  the  smile,  however,  that  Brice  relented, 
for  surely  that  look,  at  all  events,  spoke  of  some  true 
thoughts. 

"  Why  should  I  have  my  picture  painted  ? "  she  said. 
"  Mrs.  Stewart  is  not  given  to  art,  and  never  recog- 
nises even  a  photograph.  Who  else  would  enjoy  the 
work  of  art  ?  " 

"But  you  must  have  many  friends,"  said  Brice, 
falling  under  the  influence  of  that  sadness  which  was 
doubly  effective  after  the  laughing,  scornful  manner 
of  the  previous  moment. 

"  I  live  in  the  world,  you  know,  and  I  believe  I  be- 


IOO  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

long  to  that  '  society.'  Did  you  ever  look  for  a  friend 
there?"  she  said  bitterly.  Lady  Mary  did  not  hear 
the  remark  ;  she  had  gone  to  gather  a  rose,  and  then 
called  out  to  the  pair  that  she  was  going  in  but  would 
soon  return  to  them. 

Magdalen  Cuthbert  sat  down  on  a  low  seat  inside 
the  summer-house.  She  folded  her  hands  on  her  lap, 
and  looking  up  suddenly  into  Brice  Leslie's  face  she 
repeated  the  question. 

"  Have  you  ever  found  a  friend  in  society  ?  By 
the  way,  that  friend  you  mentioned,  Mr.  Chester — you 
called  him  your  friend,  did  you  not  ?  " 

Brice  also  sat  down,  and,  ignoring  the  question,  he 
said  abruptly — 

"  You  wanted  to  know  that  story  ?  " 

Magdalen  did  not  look  up.  Her  clasped  hands 
trembled  a  little,  and  there  was  a  visible  paleness  in 
her  cheeks,  but  Brice  was  not  looking  at  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  Percy  Chester  was  the  man  who,  in  some  myste- 
rious way,  more  than  any  man  I  have  known,  most 
influenced  my  life.  He  attracted  me  so  powerfully, 
that  in  spite  of  everything  I  knew — and  there  were 
few  things  he  did  not  tell  me — I  would  have  gone 
through  fire  and  water  for  him." 

Magdalen  laughed  her  short,  strange  laugh. 

"You  are  then  capable  of  that  kind  of  attach- 
ment ? " 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  measure  and  weigh  it  out  as  people 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  IOI 

in  the  world  seem  to  do  ;  I  simply — why,  need  I  be 
ashamed  of  it,  I  simply  loved  him  and  worshipped 
him." 

"  And  he  was  worthy  of  your  love  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  tell  you  I  am  not  the  man  to 
measure  out  so  much  for  so  much.  He  was  brave  and 
fearless,  and  yet,  in  some  ways,  a  coward  ;  strong  at 
times  and  then  intensely  weak  ;  clever,  oh  yes,  he 
could  do  all  he  chose  ;  and  yet  he  would  have  periods 
of  depression  and — " 

"  Was  he  happy  ?  I  mean  was  he  happily  mar- 
ried ? "  Magdalen  spoke  distinctly  as  if  her  words 
were  carefully  selected.  Brice  forgot  his  pru- 
dence. 

"  Miss  Cuthbert,  you  know  something  of  him,  or 
you  would  not  ask  me ;  you  know,  I  am  sure  you 
know,  that  his  life  was  wrecked  by  a  woman." 

"  No,"  said  Magdalen  firmly,  "  I  did  not  know  it ; 
tell  me." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  the  real  details ;  I  believe  in 
friendship  after  death,  so  that  even  now  I  could  not 
break  confidence  with  him.  I  believe  Chester  re- 
pented as  deeply  as  he  had  sinned.  The  woman  who 
went  by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Chester — " 

"  Was  somebody  else's  wife,"  Magdalen  laughed. 

"  Was  the  curse  that  Percy  Chester  would  not  rid 
himself  of.  She  became  his  hourly  torture,  and 
yet — " 

"  Yet  he  would  not  return  to  more  legitimate  ties 


I02  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

in  England.  He  had  friends  who  waited  for  him — 
for  years." 

Magdalen  rose  suddenly  and  leant  against  one  of 
the  supports  of  the  summer-house,  her  eyes  sparkled, 
her  mouth  was  firmly  set,  and  Brice  Leslie  then  under- 
stood all  the  story,  or  thought  he  did. 

"  If  I  could  tell  you  all,  all,  you  would  pity  him." 

"No,  I  should  not;  I  should  pity  those  who  suf- 
fered more  than  he  did." 

"That  is  impossible." 

Again  Magdalen  laughed  her  low,  bitter  laugh  ; 
it  made  Brice  shiver  mentally. 

"  You  cannot  know — you  could  not  know  him  as  I 
did,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  If  he  suffered,  why  is  he  to  be  pitied  ?  Tell  me 
one  more  thing :  did  she — was  she  with  him  when  he 
died,  or  did  she  leave  him  ?  " 

"  She  leave  him !  "  Brice  Leslie's  face  expressed 
unutterable  scorn.  "  That  would  have  been  showing 
mercy  to  him,  and  she  had  none — no,  she  was  his 
curse  to  the  last." 

"  You  forget,  perhaps  she  loved  him — she  left 
everything  for  him." 

Brice  bit  his  lip.  There  were  things  he  would  not 
talk  about,  and  Miss  Cuthbert  appeared  cold  and 
cruel.  She  had  then  once  known  Percy  Chester  and 
loved  him,  perhaps,  but  that  was  no  reason  for  laying 
bare  to  her  his  friend's  mental  sufferings. 

"  Forgive  me,  Miss  Cuthbert,  if — if  I  cannot  dis- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


103 


cuss  this  subject.  Whatever  you  may  have  known 
about  Chester,  if  you  once  believed  in  him,  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  suffering  would  only  pain  you." 

Magdalen  turned  away  her  head. 

"  It  does  not  pain  me,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

Brice  had  risen  and  was  standing  opposite  to  her ; 
he  could  see  the  profile  of  her  face  and  neck,  and  it 
reminded  him  of  a  beautiful  snake.  He  felt  so  indig- 
nant with  her  that,  in  his  impatience,  he  broke  off  a 
dead  fir  branch  and  snapped  it  sharply  in  two. 

"  I  thought  a  woman  could  always  pity — I  mean  a 
true  woman." 

Magdalen  turned  towards  him  again.  She  looked 
at  him  with  all  the  intensity  of  a  strong  nature;  her 
eyes  were  no  longer  hard  or  cold,  but  full  of  a  sorrow 
that  had  no  words,  full,  too,  of  unshed  tears. 

"  You,  Mr.  Leslie,  you  know  nothing,  nothing  about 
a  woman.  You  cannot  even  understand  a  woman's 
love — its  strong,  intense  force,  its  intense  patience 
and  its  intense  impatience.  It  was  because  I  loved 
Percy  Chester,  as  perhaps  few  other  women  have 
loved,  that  I  cannot  forgive  him,  and  yet  it  is  because 
you  loved  him  that  I  tell  you  this,  that  you  have  seen 
me  as  I  am  to-day  and  as  I  was  that  other  time  we 
met.  If  you  knew  me  you  would  understand  what 
that  means,  you  would  know  why  still  loving  him  I 
can  also  hate  him. — No,  you  cannot  understand  ;  let 
us  never  mention  the  subject  again." 

"  You    loved   him,"  said  Brice,   suddenly  realising 


104 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


what  this  woman's  love  meant.     "  How  could  Chester 
have  been  insensible  to  it  ?  " 

"We  were  engaged  for  a  time,  and  then — "  Mag- 
dalen passed  her  hand  over  her  brow ;  "  that  was  long 
ago — I  was — another  woman  then." 

"  Too  innocent  to  cope  with  that  woman." 

Brice  moved  a  step  towards  her  ;  he  longed  to  say 
something  else  but  dared  not. 

"  Yes,  that  is  true — I  was  another  creature  then ! 
Ah,  well,  time  changes  everything,  and  I  am 
changed !  " 

"  You  were  generous  then,  you  are  so  now.  Will 
you  let  me  tell  you  one  more  thing  ?  " 

Magdalen  waved  her  hand;  she  realised  all  at  once 
that  it  must  appear  to  this  man  that  she  was  asking 
for  pity.  She  could  not  bear  that  thought. 

"  No,  no,  nothing  more.  Never  mention  it  again.. 
The  past  is  dead,  so  is  Percy  Chester.  We  all  change. 
If  it  were  possible,  and  he  could  appear  now,  here — 

"You  would  forgive  him?" 

"  No,  I  should  never  forgive  her,  or  him.  One 
does  not  forgive  the  wild  beast  that  maims  one  for 
life —  There  is  Lady  Mary  coming  out  of  the  house 
Mr.  Leslie,  promise  me  one  thing ;  I  ask  it  because 
you  loved  him."  She  stretched  out  her  hand  and  laid 
it  in  his.  He  felt  as  if  some  one  was  commanding  his 
obedience,  as  if  the  love  he  had  given  to  his  friend 
were  being  once  more  required  of  him. 

"  I  will." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


105 


"  Never  mention  this  to  anyone,  neither  to  me  nor 
to  others." 

"  Not  till  you  give  me  leave,  though  I  should  like 
to  tell  you — " 

"  No,  no ;  tell  me  nothing  more.  Never  recur  to 
the  subject  again ;  but,  will  you  be  my  friend,  because 
you  were  his  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Brice,  in  a  low  voice.  It  seemed 
such  a  strange,  wonderful  thing  to  him  to  hear  this 
woman,  whom  he  had  by  turns  scorned  and  admired, 
asking  for  his  friendship.  At  this  moment  he  would 
have  gone  to  a  cannon's  mouth  for  her  sake,  and  with 
no  other  hope  of  reward  than  her  kind  thoughts  after 
his  death. 

There  were  steps  heard  on  the  gravel-path,  and  the 
two  separated  silently  as  one  does  after  a  funeral. 
Then  round  the  winding  garden-path  leading  to  the 
summer-house  Lady  Mary  appeared,  and  with  her 
leaning  on  her  arm  was  Griselda  Foy. 

Brice  hurried  forward. 

"Are  you  sure,  Griselda,  you  are  wise  to  come  out 
so  soon  ? " 

Griselda  smiled  up  at  her  lover. 

"  Yes,  Lady  Mary  has  been  so  kind.  After  tea, 
which  we  are  to  stay  for,  I  am  sure  I  can  ride  home." 

"  We  are  all  to  have  it  here  in  the  summer-house. 
Frank  will  be  jealous  when  he  hears  of  our  little  pic- 
nic. Magdalen,  let  me  introduce  the  fallen  heroine  to 
you.  Miss  Foy,  our  New  Zealand  horsewoman." 


106  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

Griselda  held  out  her  hand  and  smiled.  It  was  a 
child's  smile — it  might  have  been  an  angel's  smile,  so 
pure  and  innocent  did  the  girl  look  ;  and  suddenly 
she,  too,  fell  under  the  spell ;  for  Magdalen's  face  was 
soft  now,  her  eyes,  so  beautiful  at  all  times,  had  in 
them,  at  this  moment,  an  expression  of  womanly  ten- 
derness which  gave  her  the  one  grace  she  usually 
lacked,  and,  as  she  smiled  at  the  young  girl,  whose 
beauty  was  so  utterly  different  from  her  own  and 
whose  countenance  expressed  no  passion  of  disap- 
pointed life,  she  appeared  to  Griselda  as  the  embodi- 
ment of  all  that  was  perfect. 

"  Brice,"  she  said,  as  they  slowly  rode  home  in  the 
cool  of  the  lovely  summer's  evening,  "  I  think  Miss 
Cuthbert  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  have  ever  seen. 
I  can  imagine  a  man,  in  the  old  days  of  chivalry, 
being  ready  to  die  for  her.  Can't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  Brice  answered. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  see  her  again.  She  is  coming  soon 
to  stay  with  Lady  Mary.  I  wonder  how  old  she  is  ? " 

"  Oh,"  said  Brice,  trying  to  speak  carelessly, 
"about  forty,  I  expect." 

Griselda  laughed  softly. 

"  Then,  I  think,  that  must  be  the  perfect  age." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

LADY  MARY  MILTON  and  her  husband  were,  as 
we  have  already  seen,  privileged  people.  They  could 
do  what  others  might  not  dream  of  doing,  and  one  of 
the  convenient  privileges  which  they  had  claimed  was 
the  right  to  refuse  all  society  when  they  came  to 
Rosehill.  If  it  was  extremely  difficult  to  get  a  sec- 
ond-hand invitation  to  one  of  their  London  parties,  in 
the  country  it  was  quite  impossible  for  unbidden 
neighbors  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  famous  portrait 
painter  and  his  fashionable  wife.  If  people  called, 
the  Miltons  were  "  not  at  home,"  and  the  cards  were 
returned  by  a  groom  in  a  dog-cart.  Of  course  it  was 
extremely  rude  and  unsociable,  but  what  was  to  be 
done  ?  Where  would  the  rest  have  been  for  the  tired 
couple  if  they  had  not  made  this  stand  ?  Not  that 
they  were  themselves  dull.  They  asked  select  friends 
to  stay  with  them,  and  Lady  Mary  organised  delight- 
ful expeditions,  but  outsiders  were  strictly  excluded. 

Rosehill  was  no  more  open  to  Lord  Curtis  than  to 
Mr.  Jephtha  Jones,  the  Welsh  curate  of  the  parish. 
Thus  the  Miltons,  being  in  this  way  truly  biblical  and 
having  no  respect  of  persons,  avoided  giving  offence. 


108  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

The  world  round  Rosehill  had  at  last  recognised  that 
a  man's  house  must  be  his  own  castle  when  he  chooses, 
and  the  Miltons  were  very  happy  in  being  not  one  of 
the  first  to  lay  down  this  principle,  but  one  of  the  first 
to  act  up  to  it  in  their  country  seclusion. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Griselda,  quite  unwittingly, 
had  penetrated  into  the  one  house  which  was  shut 
against  everybody  else,  and  when  she  heard  that  Brice, 
her  Brice  now,  was  going  to  visit  there,  she  was  en- 
chanted. 

"  Perhaps  the  Miltons  will  let  me  come  too  some 
day,  Brice.  I  should  like  to  see  Miss  Cuthbert  again. 
I  have  fallen  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight,  only  I 
think  her  face  is  very  sad." 

"  You  would  not  say  so  if  you  saw  her  in  society." 

"  Have  you  seen  her  there,  Brice  ? " 

"  Yes,  that  night  I  was  at  Lady  Mary's.  I  told 
you  they  are  great  friends,  I  think,  at  least  as  much 
friends  as — "  Brice  paused ;  Miss  Cuthbert  had 
offered  him  her  friendship — he  was  not  going  to 
find  fault  with  it  at  this  early  stage  of  its  exist- 
ence. 

"  As  what  ? "  Griselda  put  her  hand  on  her  lover's 
arm.  "  Do  you  mean  as  we  are  ?  " 

Even  now,  though  the  lover's  kiss  had  been  given, 
the  old  easy  familiarity,  which  had  been  all  happi- 
ness, was  not  quite  gone.  Brice  carried  the  hand  to 
his  lips. 

"  No,  darling,  that  would  be  impossible.     Do  you 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  iOg 

know  what  a  fright  you  gave  me  to-day  ?  I  thought 
for  a  moment — " 

"  Silly  Brice !  but  I  shall  not  easily  forget  our 
engagement  day,  only  I  feel  as  if  we  had  really 
been  engaged  a  long,  long  time — don't  you  ?  Will 
father  really  let  me  go  back  to  New  Zealand  with 
you  ?  " 

"You  will  be  sorry  to  leave  this  lovely  place  and 
your  Foy  Lodge,  and  all  the  fun  and  gaiety." 

"  Sorry  to  go  with  you  ?  Why !  I  have  been 
looking  forward  to  your  coming  back  every  day  since 
we  left  home,  and  now,  oh !  everything  is  changed,  but 
everything  is  beautiful,  and  life  is  so  happy." 

"You  are  one  of  the  happiest  souls  on  earth;  do 
you  know  that,  Griselda?" 

Griselda  laughed,  and  in  her  laugh  there  was  noth- 
ing jarring,  nothing  sad. 

"  I  should  think  I  am  happy.  I  have  everything  to 
make  me  so." 

"  It  is  not  many  persons  who  can  say  that,  Miss 
Cuthbert,  for  instance." 

"  No,  she  does  not  look  at  all  happy.  Do  you 
know,  Brice,  if  I  knew  her  I  should  love  her.  I  should 
like  her  to  be  happy.  One  can  make  people  happy  by 
loving  them,  don't  you  think  ?"  . 

"You  can,  Griselda,  dear,"  said  Brice  quickly,  the 
strong  attractive  power  he  had  felt  when  in  Miss 
Cuthbert's  presence  was  slowly  passing  off.  It  was  as 
if  he  had  been  slightly  magnetised,  or  as  if  his  mind 


IIO  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

had  been  clouded  by  strong  narcotics,  so  that  after 
imbibing  their  fumes  his  ride  home  with  Griselda 
acted  upon  him  like  the  purest  and  freshest  of  fresh 
air. 

"  Oh,  I  would  try.  I  would  never  let  her  think  of 
sad  things,  and  she  could  not  help  smiling  if — but  per- 
haps I  shall  never  see  her  again." 

So  talking  they  rode  home  slowly  through  the 
heather  and  the  shady  country  lanes.  The  nightin- 
gales were  singing,  the  humble-bees  were  settling 
themselves  upon  the  scabious  blossoms,  and  the  squir- 
rels were  racing  merrily  up  the  red  fir-stems.  This 
evening  there  was  a  humming  sound  of  love  and  joy 
over  all  the  beautiful  country.  Such  a  night  it  was 
whereon  lovers'  vows  are  made,  and  believed  in.  If 
Brice  was  still  dreamily  thinking  of  Magdalen  standing 
against  the  summer-house  in  all  her  mature  beauty, 
her  fierce  anger,  her  intense  feeling,  and  her  sudden 
tenderness,  he  nevertheless  realised  that  the  girl  he 
had  long  loved,  and  to  whom  he  had  this  day  pledged 
his  troth,  was  a  far  more  exquisite  product  of  Nature's 
work.  No  artificial  element  was  here  visible,  no  forced 
ideas  of  life,  no  bitterness.  Perhaps  he  had  wooed 
and  won  too  easily ;  perhaps,  because  of  his  close 
friendship  with  Percy  Chester,  he  hardly  recognised 
the  beauty  of  perfect  purity  ;  or  was  it  that,  after  all, 
there  is  something  too  unreal  in  happiness  for  fallen 
humanity  to  accept,  something  too  much  out  of  har- 
mony with  the  grey  tints  of  ordinary  life  ? 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  Ill 

They  rode  up  the  drive  of  Foy  Lodge  only  just  in 
time  for  dinner,  and  when  Brice  (Griselda  having  made 
him  promise  to  make  light  of  her  accident)  went  to 
Mr.  Foy's  study,  he  mentally  wondered  why  he  had 
been  in  such  a  hurry  to  alter  the  perfect  understand- 
ing that  had  previously  existed  between  himself  and 
Griselda. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Foy  were  both  in  the  study  reading 
some  letters  just  arrived  by  the  evening  post. 

"  So  you  have  come  back  at  last,"  said  Mr.  Foy ; 
"  if  we  had  not  known  you  so  well,  Leslie,  we  should 
have  been  anxious." 

"  I  was  afraid,  John,  that  something  had  hap- 
pened," said  Mrs.  Foy  sadly. 

"  Griselda  fell  off  her  horse.  It  was  nothing  seri- 
ous, but  Lady  Mary  Milton  made  us  come  to  Rosehill 
and  insisted  on  Griselda's  resting  there." 

"  Ah  !  I  thought  something  had  happened,  but  as 
she  rode  home  it  can't  be  much.  So  the  Miltons  took 
you  in.  I  heard  they  never  visited  their  neighbours. 
Artistic  London  people  seem  to  give  themselves  such 
airs  now." 

Brice  cleared  his  voice,  stammered  a  little,  then 
said — 

"  As  you  gave  me  leave,  sir,  I  told  Griselda  that 
with  your  consent — " 

"John's  consent,  not  mine,  Mr.  Leslie.  I'm  afraid 
Griselda  is  too  young ;  she  has  seen  so  few  people; 
she  does  not  know  her  own  mind." 


H2  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  But,  my  dear,  you  told  me  yourself  that  you  were 
afraid  Griselda  would  never  think  of  anyone  but  our 
bushman,"  said  Mr.  Foy,  smiling. 

"  Well,  I  was  afraid  of  it,  but  one  can't  tell.  How- 
ever, now  you  have  really  formally  engaged  your- 
selves, I'm  afraid  it's  no  use  saying  anything  more 
about  it ;  but  when  things — I  mean  engagements — go 
on  a  long  time  they  are  not  at  all  likely  to  last." 

Mr.  Foy  laughed. 

"  Slightly  Irish,  my  dear  Jane.  You  know  yourself 
that  Leslie  spoke  to  us  about  this  before  leaving  New 
Zealand,  and  that  Griselda  has  never  even  had  another 
liking. — You  won  her  girl's  heart,  Brice,  and  the  love 
has  grown  with  her  like  an  indelible  notch  on  the  bark 
of  a  young  tree." 

"  I'm  afraid  Griselda  won't  be  asked  out  much  if 
her  engagement  is  known,  and  then  the  poor  girl  will 
have  no  pleasures,"  moaned  her  over-anxious  mother. 

"I  want  Griselda  to  be  as  happy  as  possible,"  said 
Brice  quickly.  "I  have  a  year's  leave,  and  that  is 
surely  long  enough  for  preparations.  If  you  will  let 
me  take  her  back  when  I  gOj  I  shall  do  my  best  to  re- 
turn here  after  a  few  years'  absence." 

"  Your  father  and  mother  will  think  you  might  do 
better,  Leslie.  Griselda  cannot  have  her  fortune  for 
some  time  to  come,  the  estate  is  burdened  with  lega- 
cies, and  I  shall  not  be  a  rich  man  for  a  good  many 
years,  if  ever,  now  that  land  is  so  much  depreciated  in 
value." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  Hj 

"My  father  will  only  be  too  happy  to  think  I 
should  possess  such  a  perfect  wife.  You  know,  sir,  that 
my  sister  and  I  will  share  our  father's  fortune  after  his 
death  ;  with  that  and  what  I  earn  I  shall  feel  Griselda 
can  never  want." 

"  I'm  afraid  the  young  always  think  they  know 
better  than  other  people,"  sighed  Mrs.  Foy;  "of 
course  Griselda  is  pretty,  she  might  have  married  any- 
one. Lord  Curtis  admires  her  very  much ;  I'm  sure 
of  it." 

"  Young  lords  admire  all  pretty  girls,"  said  Mr. 
Foy  decidedly,  for  he  possessed  a  large  fund  of  com- 
mon sense.  "  I  wish  my  child  to  be  happy  in  her  own 
way,  and  long  ago  we  found  out  nothing  but  good  of 
Brice  Leslie."  The  elderly  man  put  his  hand  on  Les- 
lie's shoulder. 

"  I'm  not  blaming  you,  I'm  sure,  Brice,  but  one 
cannot  help  being  fearful  about  the  happiness  of  one's 
dear  child.  Marriage  is  a  great  lottery,  and  Griselda 
is  so  youthful,  she  believes  in  love  at  first  sight," 
sighed  poor  Mrs.  Foy. 

"  Come,  come,  Jane,  it's  all  settled,  and  Brice  and 
Griselda  perfectly  understand  each  other.  You'll  stay 
for  dinner,  Leslie,  and  have  a  lover's  stroll  afterwards  ? 
I  know  you'll  make  my  child  happy ;  and,  my  dear  fel- 
low, I  hope  you'll  always  find  us  ready  to  trust  you 
with  her  welfare." 

"  I'm  sure  we  do  trust  you,  Brice,  but  you  need  not 
proclaim  the  engagement  yet,  in  spite  of  John's 


H4  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

notions.  Girls  are  so  little  cared  for  in  society  when 
people  know  they  are  engaged.  Anyhow,  we  had 
better  not  tell  the  children." 

So,  much  as  usual,  Griselda  came  down  in  her 
simple  white  muslin  dress  and  black  ribbons.  The 
dress  looked  lovely,  because  she  wore  it,  but  otherwise 
it  was  quite  regardless  of  extreme  fashion.  The  din- 
ner was  also  a  simple  meal.  The  butler  who  waited 
was  an  old  retainer,  and  Mr.  Foy  wished  to  alter 
nothing  that  belonged  to  the  past.  The  oak,  dark 
with  age,  was  ornament  enough  in  the  dining-room  ; 
the  old-fashioned  windows,  looking  out  on  green 
lawns  and  cedar  trees,  needed  no  modern  upholstery 
and  no  dainty  but  unmeaning  ribbon-bows  to  make 
them  entrancing. 

-  Griselda  was  the  life  of  the  party  this  evening. 
She  had  nearly  recovered  from  her  fall,  and  she  wished 
no  one  to  make  a  fuss  about  her.  After  the  meal  was 
over  she  strolled  out  with  Brice,  and  with  her  arm  in 
his  she  talked  on  to  him  about  her  life  since  the  two 
had  been  parted.  Then  she  wondered  how  soon  she 
should  begin  making  preparations  for  going  back  with 
him,  whether  she  really  could  be  spared,  how  happy 
the  old  free  life  would  be,  and  so  on  ;  Brice  listen- 
ing to  her  remarks  with  a  contented  smile  upon  his 
face. 

"  So  my  little  girl  will  not  mind  going  back  to 
primitive  life." 

"  Mind  !     O  Brice,  of  course  not,  but  I  must  make 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  1 15 

haste  and  learn  many  things  here,  so  that  I  may  be 
really  useful  to  you  and  really  your  companion." 

"Sweetheart !  you  are  perfect  as  you  are." 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  I  mean  to  know  everything.  You 
are  so  clever,  Brice,  and  so  fond  of  books,  whilst  my 
education  was  not  very  first-rate,  was  it  ?  I  am  sure 
Miss  Cuthbert  is  very  musical  and  knows  everything. 
— Brice,  stop  here  a  minute;  look  at  me  well  and  tell 
me,  do  you  think  you  will  ever  get  tired  of  me  ?  I  am 
not  half  good  enough  for  you,  only  you  have  not  yet 
found  it  out." 

He  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead, 
and  put  one  arm  gently  round  her.  Oh  !  if  she  might 
remain  always  as  happy,  as  believing,  as  ignorant  of 
evil  as  she  now  was,  always — always !  The  sun  sank 
in  the  far  west,  the  evening  sky  began  to  be  streaked 
with  crimson,  the  interstices  being  filled  up  by  a  pale 
blue  green  that  betokened  rain,  though  the  beauty  of 
the  day  would  certainly  last  till  night's  curtain  had 
been  drawn. 

"My  little  girl,  what  a  question!"  he  said.  "A 
man  might  look  a  long  time  and  very  far  and  wide 
before  he  found  another  Griselda!  " 

Griselda  laughed ;  for  though  she  was  not  vain, 
she  believed  Brice's  compliment  as  coming  out  of  his 
true,  noble  heart.  Part  of  Griselda's  charm  was  a 
complete  ignorance  of  her  own  perfections;  with  her 
all  was  so  entirely  natural  that  there  was  no  room 
for  art.  She  knew  that  she  was  not  learned,  that 


H6  A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY. 

she  infinitely  preferred  a  free  active  life  to  deep 
studies. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,  Brice  dear — oh,  so  very 
glad  !  Papa  is  good  to  let  us  be  really  engaged,  even 
if  we  mustn't  talk  about  it.  Do  you  know  I  prefer 
keeping  it  to  ourselves — don't  you  ?  and  I  mean  you 
to  go  about  and  enjoy  yourself.  I  sha'n't  be  tiresome. 
Do  you  remember  Rose  Jessop  ?  When  she  was  en- 
gaged she  would  never  let  that  poor  Jim  Groves  talk 
to  other  girls  or  go  anywhere,  or  do  anything.  How 
we  used  to  laugh  at  her !  Jim  Groves  got  so  tired  of 
it  and  became  quite  melancholy.  I  sha'n't  ever  be  like 
that,  Brice,  I  promise  you." 

"You  would  be  a  man's  best  safeguard,  darling; 
but  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  be  much  away  from  you, 
whether  you  like  it  or  not.  I  must  go  and  see  a  few 
relations,  and — well,  I  half  think  I  shall  give  up  Lady 
Mary's  invitation,  I  should  be  so  near  to  you  and  yet 
so  far !  " 

"  Oh  no,  Brice,  you  must  go.  She  is  a  relation, 
and  you  would  see  Miss  Cuthbert  again,  and  perhaps 
1  could  ride  over  to  my  cousin's  house  and  meet  you 
— by  mistake  of  course !  I  want  to  see  Miss  Cuthbert 
again.  I  think  I  could  sketch  her.  I  have  not  told 
you  yet,  Brice,  that  my  rough  sketches  are  much  ad- 
mired— imagine  that !  and  yet  I  have  never  had  a 
lesson.  Mr.  Best,  the  artist,  said  that  I  ought  to  go 
in  for  an  art  training.  I  laughed  at  the  idea !  No,  I 
mean  now  to  read  a  little  history  and  study  Shake- 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


117 


speare  and  do  all  the  things  you  like  best,  and  not  be 
known  only  as  good  at  riding  and  boating." 

Thus  Griselda  laughed  and  chatted  on  out  of  the 
fullness  of  her  loving  heart,  little  guessing  that  she 
should  have  given  Brice  more  trouble  in  wooing  and 
winning  her.  But  such  a  thought  wanted  deep  knowl- 
edge of  the  human  heart,  and  she  knew  nothing  of 
psychology  or  of  the  crooked  ways  of  society.  Out 
of  the  depth  of  her  love  she  gave  out  love. 

Brice  Leslie  was  not  a  grand  hero.  The  contrast 
between  the  sadness  and  sin  which  he  had  known  in 
connection  with  Percy  Chester  had  struck  him  forcibly 
when  he  had  met  and  loved  the  child  Griselda.  He 
had  thought  that  in  her  he  had  found  the  embodiment 
of  womanly  purity,  a  soul  clear  as  a  mirror  and  re- 
flecting only  the  blue  sky.  Coming  from  his  often 
long  and  lonely  expeditions  back  to  the  small  settle- 
ment at  Waital  he  knew  he  should  find  there  a  sweet 
maiden  with  a  smile  of  welcome  "and  sympathy.  He 
knew  he  should  hear  her  laughing  banter,  and  that 
she  would  be  always  ready  to  go  out  with  him  for  a 
canter  on  the  heath,  or  for  a  row  across  the  bay  in 
the  glory  of  a  New  Zealand  afternoon.  Griselda  had 
the  perfect  health  and  perfect  spirits  of  one  of  earth's 
favoured  mortals.  Moreover,  she  was  gifted  with  a 
sweet  temper,  which  contrasted  pleasingly  with  her 
mother's  fretful  fearfulness  and  anxiousness  of  dispo- 
sition. Thus  Griselda  always  showed  to  great  advan- 
tage, for  her  life  had  few  drawbacks,  and  her  love  had 


:I8  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

grown  quietly  to  full  maturity ;  but  there  had  been  no 
room  for  passion,  no  time  for  doubts  or  depression,  all 
had  been  full  sunshine. 

"  Look,  Brice,  let  me  row  you  down  the  canal  to- 
night ;  it  will  remind  us  of  Waital,  and  then  we  can 
sing  the  Maori  boat-song  we  liked  so  much.  Do  you 
remember  it  ? " 

So  they  sauntered  down  through  the  wood,  over 
which  now  spread  the  evening  shadows.  With  the 
activity  of  youth  Griselda  was  soon  ensconced  in  the 
boat,  whilst  Brice  smiled  his  inward  satisfaction  as  she 
dipped  her  oars  into  the  water. 

"  You  will  be  tired,  darling,  you  ought  not  to  do 
it,"  he  said,  lazily  enough,  however. 

"  Do  I  seem  like  it  ?  Brice,  look  at  the  water-lilies 
they  are  like  dear  little  gold  pieces  on  the  water.  I 
think  England  is  as  perfect  as  it  can  be ;  I  am  a  real 
English  girl  at  the  bottom,  though  I  sha'n't  be  sorry 
to  go  back  to  New  Zealand." 

Brice  would  have  liked  Griselda  to  be  more  de- 
pendent upon  him,  more  yielding  on  this  first  evening, 
but  then  she  was  not  afraid  of  anything,  so  how  could 
she  wish  for  protection  ?  She  was  simply  happy,  in- 
tensely happy.  Till  Brice  had  come  to  England  she 
had  wanted  him  to  complete  her  happiness;  now  he 
was  here  her  only  wish  was  satisfied.  Every  hour  was 
bright,  was  happy,  and  to-day — well,  to-day  was  only 
the  crown  of  all  the  past  joy ;  even  the  future  could 
not  be  much  happier,  for  though  the  future  was  to 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

give  her  Brice  entirely  for  her  own,  yet  it  would  also 
take  away  her  parents,  and  her  brother  and  sister, 
whom  she  loved  in  an  almost  motherly  fashion  having 
done  so  much  for  them  when  they  were  tiny  children. 

As  the  boat  glided  forward  among  the  reeds  and 
the  water-lilies,  Griselda's  voice,  sweet  and  clear, 
sounded  over  the  water,  and  lost  itself  in  the  over- 
hanging copse  woods  on  the  banks,  whilst  Brice's 
tenor  joined  in  the  wild  native  boat-song  she  sang  so 
prettily. 

Unfortunately  it  was  not  very  far  that  she  had  to 
rotv  him,  and  all  too  soon  Griselda  pulled  up  at  the 
first  bridge. 

"  Darling,  I  do  not  like  to  leave  you  to  go  back 
alone,"  said  Brice,  this  time  acting  in  a  more  lover- 
like  manner. 

"  But  you  must,  your  people  will  be  expecting  you, 
and  all  the  way  home  I  shall  think  of  you.  It  seems 
to  me  that  all  the  rushes  seem  to  say  '  Brice '  now,  and 
the  birds  too.  I  shall  get  quite  sentimental  and  you 
won't  know  me." 

Brice  smiled  as  he  kissed  her,  but  said  nothing  in 
words,  and  then  presently  he  watched  her  row  away  as 
if  he  were  looking  at  an  inhabitant  of  another  world, 
a  beautiful  spirit  who  knew  nothing  about  sin  and 
suffering,  and  who  could  live  only  when  surrounded 
with  joy.  The  feeling  lasted  all  the  evening  and 
helped  him  to  talk  over  his  future  plans  with  his 
father,  and  to  receive  his  mother's  congratulations. 


120  A  WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 

His  request  that  nothing  should  be  said  about  it 
appeared  quite  reasonable  to  them,  but  his  sister  re- 
marked:  "It  is  just  as  well  to  keep  it  to  oneself. 
Griselda  is  so  young,  she  will  perhaps  throw  you  over. 
Young  girls  get  so  soon  spoilt  in  society.  I  doubt  if 
she  will  wish  to  return  with  you  when  you  go  back  to 
New  Zealand." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Brice  shortly. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

SUDDENLY  Lady  Mary  was  seized  with  the  desire 
of  enjoying  what  she  called  "A  Rural  Love  Scene." 
She  had  the  special  talent  belonging  to  a  dramatic 
author,  but  as  Nature  had  not  provided  her  with 
enough  patience  for  the  severe  labour  of  dramatic 
authorship,  this  natural  talent  had  to  find  some  outlet. 
Her  play,  at  all  events,  was  not  complicated,  and  it 
had  originated  during  an  amusing  discussion  on  Miss 
Cuthbert's  refusals  of  eligible  lovers.  Then  Lady 
Mary  had  accepted  a  wager !  This  last  year,  for  in- 
stance, she  knew  for  a  certainty  that  Magdalen  had 
had  three  proposals  :  one  from  a  millionaire  banker, 
whose  antecedents  were  Jewish  and  whose  cast  of 
features  was  decidedly  Gentile  ;  another  from  an  elder- 
ly colonel,  who  was  of  good  family  but  by  no  means 
rich  ;  and  the  third  from  a  young  man  of  property. 
Magdalen  Cuthbert  had  been  unmerciful  in  all  cases. 
She  never  discouraged  attentions,  and  she  accepted 
homage  with  queenly  indifference.  She  dealt  out  her 
cynical  remarks  with  impartiality  and  nullified  their 
bitterness  by  a  good  many  exquisite  smiles.  Now  and 
then  she  even  bewitched  her  enemies ;  but,  as  for  her 


122  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

heart,  the  world  began  to  doubt  whether  she  had  one. 
It  was  now  commonly  given  out  that  Magdalen  was 
not  to  be  won  by  mortal  man. 

As  we  have  said,  Lady  Mary  took  up  the  glove  and 
declared  that  before  the  year  was  out  she  should  at- 
tend Miss  Cuthbert's  wedding,  and  give  the  breakfast 
at  Ross  Square.  Frank  looked  grave,  and  pooh- 
poohed  the  fun.  He  cared  not  a  straw  whether  Miss 
Cuthbert  were  single  or  married,  but  he  had  serious 
objections  to  interfering  with  matrimonial  affairs. 
His  own  suited  him  admirably,  but  then  he  knew  there 
was  not  another  Lady  Mary  in  London  town  ;  besides, 
he  had  wooed  and  won  without  the  help  of  anyone — 
why  should  not  other  men  do  the  same  ?  However, 
his  wife  would  not  be  thwarted  in  her  plans,  the  spirit 
of  opposition  being  just  then  in  the  ascendent. 

"  Come,  Frank,  the  mise  en  seine  shall  be  perfect, 
and  after  all  I  am  only  working  for  Magdalen's  happi- 
ness. That  affair  was  so  long  ago,  and  she  does  not 
care  a  scrap  about  it  now — I'm  sure  of  it ;  only  she 
has  reached  the  age  of  indecision  and  wants  a  hand  to 
help  her  to  take  the  first  step  over  that  shallow 
brook." 

"People  usually  know  their  own  minds  best,  don't 
they  ?  "  said  Frank,  "  without  any  help  from  admiring 
friends."  His  tone  was  just  a  little  scornful.  The 
Magdalen  had  no  attractions  for  him. 

"  If  you  weren't  so  terribly  prejudiced,  Frank,  you 
too  would  admire  the  personality  of  such  a  woman." 


A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY.  I23 

"  But  I  don't.  She  is  heartless.  That  poor  old 
colonel  believed  in  her,  and  she  took  to  sympathising 
with  him.  I  never  believed  a  word  of  it  the  whole 
time." 

"  Well,  yes  ;  but  you  didn't  expect  her  to  marry  a 
man  who  talks  of  nothing  but  campaigns,  did  you  ? 
Magdalen  is  clever  and  musical ;  a  man  like  that  would 
bore  her  to  death  in  a  week." 

"  A  woman  like  that  would  send  the  worthy  colonel 
to  his  grave  in  a  fortnight ;  she  would  flirt,  and — 

"  Now,  Frank,  excuse  me ;  you  are  very  clever 
and  an  artist,  and  you  think  you  study  faces  and  char- 
acter, but  you  know  nothing  whatever  of  Magdalen 
Cuthbert." 

"  I  know  quite  enough  ;  but  anyhow,  she  is  wel- 
come to  Rosehill,  if  she  will  give  me  a  few  sittings. 
The  picture  will  do  for  one  of  my  next  academy  por- 
traits, and  that  will  please  her  vastly." 

This  conversation  took  place  before  the  exodus  to 
Rosehill,  and  now  Lady  Mary  had  fallen  still  more  in 
love  with  her  "  Rural  Love  Scene,"  because  the  lover's 
cue  had  come,  and  she  having  called  Brice  Leslie  on 
the  scene,  he  had  appeared.  He  would  do  admirably, 
she  settled,  for  he  had  that  peculiar  undefinable  charm 
about  him  which  attracts  women.  He  was  not  vain, 
though  he  was  handsome  ;  he  was  in  earnest,  though 
there  was  nothing  puritanical  about  him ;  above  all, 
Magdalen  admired  him — at  least  she  showed  strong 
inclination  to  do  so,  and  though  it  was  rash  to  place 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

too  much  confidence  on  this  mark  of  her  esteem,  Lady 
Mary  was  not  to  be  baffled.  Magdalen  Cuthbert 
should  have  every  help  to  falling  in  love  which  Lady 
Mary's  beautiful  Rosehill  could  provide.  If  Magda- 
len would  have  married  without  love,  the  task  would 
have  been  quite  easy,  and  long  ago  accomplished. 
But,  never  mind,  thought  the  little  lady,  the  play 
would  become  more  amusing  if  it  were  really  a  love 
scene,  and  to  see  the  cynical  Miss  Cuthbert  succumb 
was  worth  some  trouble. 

This  was  how  Lady  Mary's  play  came  about. 

The  weather  was  delicious,  the  harvest  had  begun; 
the  sheaves  were  dotting  the  distant  landscape  with 
gold;  ripe  oats  hung  in  waving  modesty  ready  to  be 
gathered ;  the  flowers  of  the  hop  gave  diversity  to 
the  beautiful  vine-like  leaves ;  the  larks  soared  high 
above,  occasionally  darting  to  earth  in  order  to  take 
new  flights,  and  all  around  was  harmony  and  beauty. 
There  are  some  days  when  love  appears  merely  a  com- 
plement to  life,  when  the  very  air  one  breathes  seems 
to  kiss  the  lips  it  touches,  when  Nature  holds  out  her 
arms  and  expects  humanity  to  nestle  on  her  breast  so 
that  she  may  listen  to  her  honeyed  words.  To  add  to 
all  this  natural  beauty,  Rosehill  exhibited  the  perfect 
union  of  nature  and  art.  The  green  lawns  were  soft 
and  enchanting  to  the  tread ;  there  were  no  sad  lau- 
rels shutting  out  the  sweet  scent  of  distant  fields ; 
and  for  privacy  there  were  uncultivated  heather  lands, 
where  those  who  preferred  solitude  might  wander  on 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


125 


over  undulating  hill  and  dales,  or,  if  weary,  find  rest 
and  shelter  in  the  picturesque  summer-house  designed- 
by  Frank  Milton. 

Magdalen  loved  country  sights  and  sounds,  be- 
cause of  her  inborn  poetical  nature.  Also,  she  loved 
them  because  they  soothed  the  tumult  of  gnawing  re- 
gret, of  lost  hope,  of  lost  love ;  but  her  love  was  of 
that  strange  kind  which  is  sometimes  much  akin  to 
hatred.  The  first  few  days  she  was  at  Rosehill  the 
power  of  Nature's  mysterious  spell  took  possession  of 
her,  and  she  often  wandered  up  to  the  summer-house, 
and  sat  there,  sometimes  for  an  hour  or  two  at  a  time, 
without  moving,  almost  without  breathing.  Her  beau- 
tiful, blue,  dark-fringed  and  saddened  eyes  gazed  at 
the  bluer  distance  as  if  there  were  some  affinity  be- 
tween her  and  that  palpitating  azure  haze,  as  if  the 
blending  of  the  distance  into  an  exquisite  whole  was 
the  remedy  that  would  bring  her  healing  and  joy,  as  if 
she  believed  in  the  annihilation  of  all  material  life,  and 
as  if  her  spirit  could  take  flight  and  leave  the  clay  that 
had  fretted  it  so  long,  to  find  at  last  rest  in  a  perfect 
Pantheism.  One  day,  after  a  long  period  of  silence, 
she  leant  back  against  the  rough  fir-stems  of  the  rustic 
summer-house,  and,  clasping  her  hands  over  her  head, 
she  experienced  for  a  few  moments,  as  she  breathed  a 
deep  sigh,  something  of  that  often  eluding  peace  steal- 
ing over  her.  It  was  as  balm  to  the  broken  spirit,  or 
as  oil  to  scorching  flesh.  The  peace  of  nature  ex- 
pressed in  such  pure  colours  had  effected  this  moment- 


126  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

ary  stillness.  Some  voice  had  uttered  the  "  Peace,  be 
still "  to  her  heart,  and  had  given  her  a  foretaste  of 
the  happiness  of  death,  if  death  means  perfect  silence. 
Then  one  of  her  exquisite  smiles  broke  over  her  face, 
a  smile  which  had  once  brought  Percy  Chester  to  her 
feet,  and  which  since  then  had  made  men  both  love 
her  and  curse  her,  a  smile  which  must  have  been  heav- 
en-born, but  which  had  passed  forty  years  on  earth 
and  had  become  much  blemished  during  its  earthly  ex- 
istence. 

She  was  thinking  of  Brice  Leslie,  not  as  a  man  and 
an  admirer,  or  in  any  way  as  touching  herself  and  her 
life,  but  as  the  one  being  she  now  knew  who  had  seen 
Percy,  who  had  known  him,  loved  him,  and  who  had 
brought  her  word  that  his  life  had  not  been  all  sun- 
shine, that  what  had  been  a  fatal  momentary  passion 
had  brought  with  it  death  to  his  earthly  happiness,  and 
blight  upon  his  life's  rare  blossoms.  Once,  long  ago, 
Magdalen  would  have  been  able  to  endure  any  per- 
sonal suffering  in  order  to  save  the  man  she  loved 
from  an  hour's  pain,  but  not  now.  At  this  moment, 
her  smile  was  caused  by  the  certainty  that  he  had  suf- 
fered and  regretted  his  folly,  that  she  had  not  been 
alone  in  the  fierce  strife,  but  that  he,  too,  had  been 
fighting  in  the  battle,  had  felt  the  bullet  wounds,  even 
if  he  and  she  had  been  separated  on  the  battle-field. 
She  now  knew  that  he,  too,  had  been  where  the  battle 
was  as  fierce,  if  not  fiercer  than  where  she  had  stood. 
She  had  waited  many  years  for  this  consolation,  she 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  i2j 

4iad  hungered  for  it,  and  now  it  had  come  to  her ;  and 
as  she  sat  there,  pondering  over  it,  letting  it  sink  into 
her  very  being,  assimilating  it  with  her  love  for  that 
beautiful  nature  before  her,  she  experienced  the  mo- 
ment of  peace  that  brought  a  look  of  joy  to  her  face. 
It  was  fictitious  joy,  but  it  successfully  simulated  hap- 
piness, and  for  a  brief  interval  Magdalen  Cuthbert 
looked  radiant. 

She  rose  slowly,  feeling  that  she  must  do  some- 
thing to  express  this  new-born  sensation,  for  it  seemed 
to  desire  action  in  order  to  make  sure  of  its  identity 
and  to  revel  in  its  new  birth.  Could  it  be  true  that  the 
burden  had  fallen  from  her,  that  these  few  days  of 
communing  with  Nature  and  the  certainty  of — shall 
we  call  it  by  the  vulgar  name  of  revenge  ? — had  lifted 
the  brooding  weight  from  her  spirit,  and  had  enabled 
her  once  more  to  walk  proudly  in  her  own  path,  proud 
because  free  ?  All  these  years  Percy  Chester  had  kept 
her  in  bondage,  but  now — now — 

There  were  sounds  of  footsteps,  and  Magdalen  im- 
mediately remembered  this  was  the  day  on  which  Brice 
Leslie  was  expected  to  arrive — doubtless  he  was  com- 
ing up  the  path  with  Lady  Mary.  This  latter  had  been 
very  busy  since  the  arrival  at  Rosehill,  setting  her 
household  gods  in  picturesque  order.  The  fashion  of 
decorative  art  had  changed  since  the  previous  year. 
Lady  Mary  had  found  in  her  house  bows  where  no 
bows  should  be ;  last  year  they  had  looked  artistic,  this 
season  they  appeared  vulgar.  Frank  had  freaks,  too, 


I28  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

about  his  studio,  and  his  wife  knew  that  no  real  peace 
was  to  be  had  till  he  was  pacified  into  a  rural  state  of 
.contentment.  Lady  Mary  objected  to  any  household 
machinery  being  visible.  Everything  in  a  house,  she 
said,  ought  to  go  on  as  if  worked  by  unseen  agencies ; 
but,  of  course,  even  the  best-contrived  machinery  has  to 
be  oiled  and  set  going,  and  the  motive-power  generated. 
Lady  Mary  required  a  few  days  to  put  everything  in 
motion,  after  that  all  went  admirably.  There  was  no 
moaning  about  servants'  delinquencies  heard  at  Rose- 
hill  ;  the  young  men  and  maidens  knew  what  they  had 
to  do,  and  did  it.  This  management  of  human  beings 
is  a  talent  like  any  other  talent,  and  Lady  Mary  added 
it  to  her  many  other  qualities.  She  knew  Magdalen 
would  be  quite  happy  left  alone  for  a  few  days,  and 
thus  the  two,  as  yet,  had  done  little  more  than  meet  at 
meals  and  in  the  evening. 

These  three  or  four  days  had  recruited  Lady 
Mary's  energies ;  she  positively  longed  for  new  ex- 
citement— of  a  rural  kind,  of  course.  There  must 
be  no  clashing  with  the  London  life  ;  that  was 
of  necessity  a  thing  apart,  the  true  business  of  her 
life. 

Brice  Leslie  was  her  first  and  most  important 
visitor.  He  had  a  part  to  play,  and  Lady  Mary  meant 
him  to  play  it  well.  She  knew  of  no  reasonable  ob- 
stacle, and,  as  to  Magdalen,  these  few  lonely  days 
must  have  given  her  new  zest  for  conquest.  This 
time,  thought  Lady  Mary,  everything  was  suitable ; 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


129 


Miss  Cuthbert  had  already  shown  her  preference,  and 
she  must  go  further. 

"  What  about  failure  ? "  murmured  Suspicion. 
Lady  Mary  hated  failure,  and  she  meant  to  lay  her 
plans  with  great  caution  and  then  to  echo  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  words,  "And  we'll  not  fail." 

But  as  often  happens  in  life  and  on  the  race-course, 
there  was  a  false  start.  Early  this  morning  Magdalen 
might  have  been  prepared  to  receive  Mr.  Leslie 
graciously,  but  now  it  was  otherwise.  Her  spirits  had 
risen.  She  felt  she  could  rule,  she  could  command ; 
she  felt  ashamed  that  Brice  had  witnessed  her  moment 
of  weakness  ;  that  he  alone,  of  all  the  men  who  had  ad- 
mried  her,  had  seen  Magdalen  Cuthbert  overcome  by 
the  strength  of  a  suffering  she  had  so  long  been  proud 
to  hide.  Even  though  it  was  in  no  way  his  fault  that 
this  had  occurred,  she  wished  to  make  him  suffer  for  it. 
The  strange  part  of  this  affair  was  that  these  two, 
without  guessing  it,  were  working  in  the  dark.  Both 
of  them  wishing  to  reach  a  certain  point,  acted  in  a 
manner  conducive  to  bring  about  the  opposite  results. 
Brice  had  come  to  Rosehill,  he  hardly  knew  why,  ex- 
cept that  he  wished  to  keep  his  promise  and  to  please 
Lady  Mary,  and  (this  last  object  he  scarcely  whispered 
to  himself)  to  study  once  more  that  peculiar  mind 
confined  within  the  fascinating  exterior  called  Miss 
Cuthbert.  But  on  his  arrival  he  found  that  the  god- 
dess had  altered  her  mood,  so  that  it  seemed  impos- 
sible to  believe  in  his  past  experience.  Miss  Cuthbert 


130 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


was  light-hearted,  brilliant,  scornful,  imperious,  ex- 
pecting admiration,  displeased  when  she  got  it,  yet 
more  displeased  when  she  did  not  get  it. 

"  The  disease  of  being  in  love  with  such  a  mortal," 
thought  Brice,  "  suppose  a  man  were  attacked  by  it, 
which  I  am  not,  could  easily  be  cured  by  the  same 
draught  that  caused  it.  Poison  will  cure  poison.  A 
day  with  Miss  Cuthbert  in  this  mood  would  repel  the 
most  love-lorn  idiot."  Then  Griselda's  sweet  person- 
ality rose  before  his  mind's  eye  and  reigned  supreme. 
"  If  I  stayed  here  a  year,"  continued  the  short-sighted 
Brice,  "  I  might  offer  incense,  but  never  sacrifice  my 
peace  of  mind  to  her." 

On  her  side  Magdalen  found  her  grand  coldness 
received  calmly.  Brice  neither  courted  her  nor 
shunned  her,  and  what  is  more  baffling  than  perfectly 
natural  indifference  which  is  too  indifferent  to  show 
indifference  ?  She  had  the  intention  of  making  this 
Brice  Leslie  forget  her  past  weakness,  and  not  to  pre- 
sume on  intimacy  with  her,  because  once  she  had  been 
unable  to  hide  what  for  years  had  been  an  unrevealed 
secret ;  but  she  found  him  apparently  incapable  of  re- 
membering it,  or  utterly  indifferent  to  the  remem- 
brance. She  saw  her  weakness  treated  as  if  it  be- 
longed to  her  by  right  of  her  womanhood.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  had  not  created  the  effect  she  had 
calculated  upon.  She  was  able  to  command  love,  to 
create  jealousy,  to  laugh  at  devotion,  but  for  the  first 
time  she  encountered  indifference,  and  for  the  first 


A   WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  I$i 

time  Magdalen  was  piqued.  Something  had  crossed 
her  path  which  did  not  gaze  up  at  her  face,  so  the  im- 
pulse was  created  to  stoop  down  and  force  an  attitude 
towards  herself  which  had  not  come  naturally. 

Had  she  not  felt  the  influence  of  her  new  freedom 
it  is  doubtful  whether  she  would  have  taken  the 
trouble,  but  this  strange  relief  from  pain  which  caused 
her  to  laugh  silently — a  sad  laugh  all  the  same — left 
room  for  a  new  effort.  Before,  she  had  easily  con- 
quered, and,  without  a  moment's  pain  to  herself,  had 
as  easily  rejected  her  prize ;  now  the  idea  entered 
her  head  that  she  would  follow  the  path  a  little  far- 
ther. If  she  found  it  uninteresting,  there  was  always 
a  possibility  of  retracing  her  steps.  If  the  flowers  by 
the  way  proved — as  many  had  done  before — not  worth 
picking,  she  need  not  stoop  to  cull  them,  or  if  she 
picked  them,  she  could  always  throw  them  away. 

That  it  was  possible  she  should  ever  advance  too 
far  into  the  wood  to  return,  that  she  should  ever  pick 
flowers  whose  fragrance  would  be  too  sweet  to  make 
her  wish  to  part  from  them,  never  entered  her  mind. 
When  we  lay  down  an  old  burden,  fitful  fate  some- 
times lays  a  heavier  one  on  our  shoulders,  and  it  was 
for  want  of  appreciating  this  fact  that  Magdalen  Cuth- 
bert  suddenly  plunged  into  the  wood,  and  with  a  smile 
upon  her  lips  took  the  first  step  on  the  narrow  wind- 
ing path  which  led — whither  ? 

All  this  is  metaphor,  but  let  it  pass.  The  reality 
was  the  obvious  sauntering  about  together  during 


132  A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY. 

that  first  afternoon;  the  airy  nothings  that  were  said; 
the  monosyllabic  answers  of  Brice,  who  was  in  no 
mood  for  exertion  ;  the  little  sarcastic  worldly  remarks 
of  Magdalen ;  the  silvery  laugh  of  Lady  Mary,  who 
smiled  at  Magdalen's  contrary  mood  without  being 
altogether  disheartened,  though  indeed  it  warned  her 
that  she  must  be  more  circumspect,  because  her  vic- 
tory was  not  yet  assured.  Frank  strolled  in  later, 
when  the  shadows  were  lengthening,  and  suggested  a 
field  walk. 

A  field  walk  taken  by  four  persons,  who  think  it  a 
social  duty  to  talk,  is  not  a  treat  exactly  suited  to 
poetical  natures.  Magdalen  walked  on  with  Frank, 
and  Brice  was. very  attentive  to  Lady  Mary.  He 
parted  the  overhanging  branches  in  the  lane  for  her, 
placed  stepping-stones  over  the  brook  for  fear  her 
dainty  feet  should  get  wet,  whilst  thoughtless  Frank 
Milton  allowed  Miss  Cuthbert  to  splash  through  the 
water  like  a  rustic.  Frank  had  no  affinities  with  the 
beauty ;  she  was  certainly  not  the  woman  who  would 
or  could  ever  make  him  forget  Mary.  Magdalen 
knew  this,  of  course.  She  had  a  certain  scornful 
respect  for  his  character,  but  naturally  she  did  not 
trouble  herself  to  waste  smiles  upon  him.  She  lis- 
tened patiently  to  his  artistic  remarks,  doubting  some 
of  them,  but  bearing  with  them  without  contradiction 
for  Lady  Mary's  sake.  Certainly  Magdalen  liked  her 
hostess  as  much  as  she  could  like  one  of  her  own  sex 
— truly,  faithfully,  but  phlegmatically,  so  that  it  was 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  ^3 

all  in  Lady  Mary's  favour  that  she  herself  gave  more 
than  she  received — plus  a  little  amusement — in  carry- 
ing out  her  generous  plans. 

Now  and  then  Magdalen  heard  snatches  of  the 
conversation  behind  her.  Once  she  almost  turned 
round  to  join  in  it,  but  desisted,  till  at  last  Frank 
Milton  caught  sight  of  a  binding-machine,  and  insisted 
on  making  his  companion  come  across  the  field  to  ex- 
plain its  working  to  her.  Miss  -Cuthbert  scornfully 
remarked  to  herself  that  the  artist  must  think  himself 
an  unrecognised  Nasmyth. 

Lady  Mary  understood  nothing  but  human  ma- 
chines, and  stayed  at  the  edge  of  the  field  talking  to 
Brice.  All  this  looked  simple  enough,  and  yet  it  was 
just  at  this  moment  that  Brice  Leslie  missed  an  oppor- 
tunity. A  hundred  other  men  might  have  done  the 
same,  but  the  fact  remains  to  be  chronicled  that  this 
one  failed  in  a  simple  duty. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Leslie,  it  really  is  very  good-natured 
of  you  to  have  come  to  our  silent  and  solitary  Rose- 
hill.  I  did  not  expect  you  to  keep  your  promise." 
Lady  Mary  told  white  fibs  extremely  prettily. 

"  I  should  have  done  so  anyhow,"  said  Brice 
quickly,  "but  just  now  I  am  really  glad  to  get  away 
from  home.  My  father  is  a  little  worried  by  my  pres- 
ence. Naturally,  he  wants  to  talk  to  me,  and  yet  any 
excitement  is  bad  for  him." 

"  Some  men  would  prefer  more  exciting  amuse- 
ments than  a  quiet  country  life,  but,  really,  I  will  take 


134 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


pity  on  you  and  see  what  we  can  do  to  show  you  what 
it  is  like  at  its  best — English  country  life,  I  mean.  I 
suppose  those  New  Zealand  Foys,  your  neighbours, 
are  still  clothed  in  a  colonial  garb,  mentally — I  mean  ? " 

Brice  smiled. 

"  Certainly  at  present  we  are  all  in  the  same  boat, 
except  that  Mr.  Foy  is  anxious  to  become  a  real 
English  country  gentleman,  but  personally  I  have  no 
ambition  that  way." 

"And  what  is  your  ambition  ?" 

"  Simple  enough :  to  go  back  to  my  work  till  I 
have  made  a  sufficient  income,  and  then  either  to 
settle  in  New  Zealand,  or  to  return  home  to  vegetate." 

Lady  Mary  laughed  happily. 

"Your  ambition  sadly  requires  rousing.  No,  give 
up  New  Zealand,  marry  an  Englishwoman,  and  turn 
your  attention  to  politics." 

"I  don't  believe  in  politics;  besides,  my  wife  may 
have  simpler  tastes." 

"  But  there  is  yet  time  to  choose  the  right  wife. 
You  want  a  woman  of  power,  of— 

"  But  the  truth  is — "  Brice  was  going  to  say,  "  she 
is  chosen,"  then  he  stopped  suddenly,  for  Griselda's 
parents  did  not  wish  for  the  publicity  of  the  engage- 
ment, and  he  himself  felt  shy  of  mentioning  her  name. 
The  very  thought  of  that  light-hearted,  innocent  girl 
seemed  out  of  place  just  here,  and  Miss  Cuthbert, 
when  she  knew  it,  might  send  one  of  the  poisonous 
little  arrows  from  her  quiver  at  simple-minded  Gri- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


135 


selda.      Brice  hesitated,   paused,  and   was  silent — his 
chance  was  gone. 

"  But  the  truth  is,"  repeated  Lady  Mary,  laughing, 
as  she  picked  a  graceful  spike  of  oats  and  placed  it  in 
her  brooch,  "  that  you  have  become  somewhat  of  a 
confirmed  bachelor." 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  mean  by  that  I  fail  in  respect 
to  the  fair  sex  ?"  answered  Brice,  trying  to  answer  ban- 
ter with  banter. 

"  The  fair  sex  forgive  that  if  you  succumb  at  last." 

"  Then  I  hope  I  shall  be  forgiven  "  (Griselda  would 
certainly  forgive). 

"  You  shall  be  guided  rightly  under  this  roof. — 
Frank,  wait  a  moment  and  give  me  a  good  character. 
Bear  witness — do  I  often  fail  ? "  Frank  and  Miss 
Cuthbert  paused.  As  the  latter  turned  round,  the 
brightness  of  the  evening  light  formed  a  halo  round 
her  head,  and  the  reflected  glow  softened  the  deeper 
shadows  of  her  features.  There  was  much  about  her 
of  the  splendid  majesty  of  a  Greek  goddess,  a  goddess 
with  the  addition  of  the  warm  human  life-blood  cours- 
ing through  her  veins. 

"  If  you  do,  you  carefully  hide  it  from  me,"  said 
the  artist,  and  the  genial, smile  that  spread  over  his 
countenance  bore  witness  to  Lady  Mary's  undying 
charm  over  her  husband. 

"  Let  me  be  another  witness,"  said  Magdalen. 
"  Your  failure  is  success  compared  to  the  success  of 
others." 


136 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


"  Then  I'll  not  fail.  Listen,  Frank  !  Let  us  ex- 
temporise a  pastoral,  a  masque,  an  out-of-door  play, 
call  it  anything  you  like;  design  the  dresses,  and  I'll 
get  the  company.  Every  member  shall  be  appreci- 
ated and  appreciative,  and  this  Australian  cousin  of 
mine  shall  see  something  of  a  country  party — as  it 
should  be  given." 

"  Don't  ask  any  country-people,  that  is  all,"  said 
Frank.  "  I  know  what  that  will  mean  in  the  near 
future — a  gross  of  invitations." 

"  Invitations  to  garden  parties,"  said  Magdalen, 
turning  towards  Brice,  who  had  been  unsuccessfully 
trying  to  look  away  from  the  beautiful  picture  before 
him.  "  You  see  how  Mr.  Milton  receives  the  idea. 
He  does  not  pretend  to  like  them  as  we  women  pre- 
tend." 

"  Good  Lord !  How  can  one  pretend  !  People 
open  their  gardens — sometimes  a  mere  patch  of  lawn. 
They  stand  at  the  door  and  hurriedly  shake  hands 
with  you,  and  then  you  tramp  round  the  green  cage 
like  frightened  wild  beasts ;  you  cannot  talk  to  one 
person,  and  are  soon  sick  of  saying  the  same  thing  to 
many.  Next,  you  try  to  slink  out  unperceived,  and 
are  sure  to  fail,  for  the  hostess  says  in  an  aggrieved 
tone,  '  Are  you  going  so  soon,  Mr.  Milton  ? '  That  is 
called  pleasure!  Mary,  you  must  sue  for  a  separa- 
tion, if  I  am  to  begin  a  series  of  garden  parties." 

Lady  Mary  laughed  and  reassured  her  spouse. 

"  Your  hatred  to  such  entertainments  does  not  ap- 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  137 

proach  mine,  so  you  need  not  fear.  Not  a  soul  from 
the  neighbourhood  shall  come,  unless — yes,  what  do 
you  say,  Magdalen,  to  making  an  exception  in  favour 
of  the  fair  New  Zealander ;  but  how  are  we  to  avoid 
papa  and  mamma,  brother  and  sister  ?  " 

"  Ask  her  to  stay  the  night,"  said  Magdalen  ;  "  she 
is  young  enough  to  enjoy  that  sort  of  thing." 

Brice  stood  by  silent,  but  repenting  of  his  silence. 

"  She  would  look  beautiful  as  an  Undine,  but  that 
is  a  detail.  I  see  everything  before  me.  The  shade 
of  the  beech  trees,  the  players  playing  their  mimic 
parts.  Magdalen,  you  can  be  the  central  figure. 
What  a  success !  the  murmur  of  the  crowd,  the — 
Let's  come  in  and  hunt  for  a  play.  Actors  must  learn 
their  parts  in  a  week,  rehearse  at  the  beginning  of  the 
next,  grand  performance  on  the  following  Thursday 
evening.  There  will  be  lamps  suspended  from  the 
trees,  and  Arcadia  will  be  rediscovered." 

Lady  Mary  beheld  the  whole  thing  before  her 
mind's  eye,  and  for  her  it  was  a  new  conquest. 

"  Mr.  Leslie  will  see  how  we  make  fools  of  our- 
selves in  the  country,"  said  Magdalen,  for  the  first 
time  that  day  looking  straight  at  him. 

"  Then  I  shall  think  it  is  folly  to  be  wise,"  answered 
Brice,  and  Lady  Mary  said  "  Bravo  !  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

THAT  evening  after  dinner  Brice  Leslie  felt  him- 
self in  another  atmosphere,  an  atmosphere  he  had 
never  lived  in  before,  and  which  was  like  choice  wine 
to  one  who  has  never  tasted  fermented  liquor.  He 
metaphorically  took  a  sip  and  put  it  down  slowly,  un- 
certain whether  he  liked  the  taste  of  it  or  not.  He 
had  lived  among  two  species  of  humanity ;  the  one 
represented  by  his  friend  Percy  Chester,  where  life 
was  a  terrible  reality — a  struggle  against  hateful,  even 
if  self-bound  chains;  the  other,  besides  his  own  hum- 
drum circle,  was  the  peaceful,  almost  pastoral,  sim- 
plicity of  the  family  at  Foy  Farm  and  the  entirely 
innocent-minded  Griselda.  But  at  Rosehill  neither  of 
these  two  elements  were  visible.  There  was  no 
scandal  and  no  defiance  of  society,  but  on  the  other 
hand  there  was  matured  beauty,  high  breeding,  spark- 
ling and  cultured  wit.  Brice's  own  nature  had  re- 
volted against  the  Lily  M'Intyre  type,  but  he  had 
loved  Percy  Chester  so  truly  that  he  had  learnt 
silently  to  endure  the  sight  of  "  that  woman."  It 
was,  however,  the  reaction  from  this  state  of  endur- 
ance that  had  made  him  admire  and  love  Griselda  Foy. 


A   WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


139 


Neither  of  these  experiences  had  prepared  him  for 
the  strange  intoxicating  influence  of  this  fresh  centre. 
It  was  all  the  more  powerful  because,  on  the  surface 
of  it,  there  was  no  danger-signal  visible.  Magdalen 
had  not  given  him  one  bewitching  smile,  and  Lady 
Mary  had  not  revealed  to  him  one  jot  or  tittle  of  her 
plans.  There  was  merely  the  perfect  freedom  of 
speech,  the  appropriation  of  him  as  an  accepted  rela- 
tion, from  whom  sympathy  was  expected  ;  and,  further, 
there  was  the  delightful  unconventionality  of  an  Eng- 
lish home  life  unconnected  with  monetary  anxiety, 
this  being  quite  a  new  feature  to  the  settler's  mind. 
Lady  Mary  knew — and  few  people  do  know — how  to 
be  rich.  She  oiled  her  machinery  generously  and  ex- 
pected it  to  work  easily,  and  her  expectations  were 
not  disappointed.  We  may  live  some  time  in  a  relax- 
ing atmosphere  without  feeling  any  injurious  effects, 
and  this  evening  Brice,  for  the  first  time,  gave  himself 
up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment.  His  future  was 
calmly  beautiful ;  he  had  no  danger  to  foresee  in  that 
quarter.  The  present  was  represented  by  a  woman 
who  was  fascinating  even  if  no  longer  young,  and  by 
an  original  lady  of  fashion  who  was  of  the  world  with- 
out being  worldly,  and  whose  tact,  sweetness,  and 
politeness  never  failed,  so  that  she  jarred  against 
none  of  the  old-fashioned  ideas  of  what  became  a  true 
lady.  It  was  like  sailing  on  a  calm  summer  sea. 
There  was  blue  above  and  blue  below,  and  Brice 
knew  he  was  no  mean  sailor.  He  was  aware  that 


140 


A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY. 


storms  might  be  close  at  hand,  though  there  was  no 
visible  sign  of  their  approach,  but  he  could  not  hide 
from  himself  that  that  evening  some  of  his  indiffer- 
ence to  Miss  Cuthbert  suddenly  wore  off. 

The  raised  terrace  was  a  charming  spot  for  cof- 
fee-drinking and  smoking.  The  fashionable  portrait 
painter  was  a  connoisseur  in  cigars,  and  was  generous 
to  his  visitors.  Lady  Mary,  dressed  in  blue  and 
swan's-down,  sat  discussing  plays  and  possibilities, 
whilst  Miss  Cuthbert  joined  in  with  clever  remarks 
and  suggestions,  or  suddenly  relapsed  into  a  silence 
which  was  as  eloquent  as  her  speech.  When  her  face 
was  at  rest  Brice  noted  that  unmistakable  look  of 
yearning  sadness  which  had  attracted  him  in  London. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  this  expression  had  been  once 
suddenly  impressed  there,  and  that  the  features  must 
perforce  now  and  again  fall  unbidden  into  the  same 
lines.  Brice  found  himself  pitying  instead  of  blaming 
her.  He  seemed  to  hear  her  once  more  declare  how 
much  she  had  loved  the  man  who  had  proved  faith- 
less, and  the  words  in  which  she  had  offered  him 
friendship  still  echoed  in  his  ears.  Since  then  she  had 
certainly  met  him  as  a  mere  acquaintance,  but  the 
recollection  of  that  other  conversation  made  him  sud- 
denly get  up  and  stand  silently  by  her  chair.  Some- 
times Opportunity  seems  to  delight  in  acts  of  kindness, 
— or  shall  we  say  in  laying  pitfalls  for  the  unwary  ? — 
for  at  this  moment  Frank  Milton  walked  away  to  the 
other  end  of  the  terrace,  and  Lady  Mary  said  she  had 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


141 


just  recollected  where  to  find  another  book  which 
might  contain  a  suitable  play.  Brice  never  doubted 
the  idea  was  spontaneous,  and  certainly  never  fan- 
cied Lady  Mary  had  any  ulterior  motive  ;  but 
then  he  was  a  man,  and  she  a  woman  with  a  pur- 
pose. 

The  half  light,  the  soft  delicious  evening  air,  the 
heavy  perfume  of  a  second  hay  crop  wafted  towards 
them,  the  stillness  of  wearied  humanity  surrounding 
them, — and  all  these  made  pity  grow  apace.  A  man's 
pity  is  wondrously  tender;  it  has  none  of  the  curiosity 
which  desires  to  probe  a  wound,  which  curiosity  is 
often  part  and  parcel  of  a  woman's  sympathy.  Mag- 
dalen had  loved,  and  had  suffered,  he  thought.  If  she 
would  have  listened  and  heard  all,  all  that  Brice  could 
tell  her,  she  would  forgive ;  but  she  had  forbidden  him 
to  speak  again  on  the  subject,  and  he  dared  not  dis- 
obey. Since  then  he  had  fancied  her  proud,  worldly, 
heartless ;  but  at  this  moment  pity — shall  we  call  it 
man's  divine  pity  ? — conquered. 

"  I  hope  Lady  Mary  will  not  charter  the  boy-musi- 
cian again,"  he  said,  sitting  down  near  to  Magdalen, 
so  that  he  could  see  her  outline  against  a  background 
of  chrysolite  sky.  "  Do  you  remember  how  much 
you  pitied  him  that  evening  in  Ross  Square,  Miss 
Cuthbert  ? " 

"  Did  I  ?  Most  likely  it  was  wasted  pit'y.  The 
minds  of  professional  people,  even  of  children,  are 
filled  with  one  object,  the  object  of  making  money  and 


142 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


getting  fame,  and  that  passion  satisfies  every  earthly 
desire.  I  ought  to  have  envied  him." 

"  Envied  him  ?  God  forbid.  I  have  seen  enough 
of  the  curse  of  money-getting." 

"  Curses  and  blessings  are  purely  terms  to  express 
not  a  reality  but  an  imaginary  state  of  mind,  and  I 
am  not  superstitious." 

"  Superstition  may  differ,  I  hope,  from  some  few 
truths  one  has  clung  to  from  childhood." 

Magdalen  did  not  laugh  scornfully,  as  Brice, 
directly  he  had  spoken,  half  expected  her  to  do.  Her 
voice  was  perfectly  natural,  neither  eager  nor  sad,  as 
she  answered  in  quite  an  indifferent  tone — 

"  I  have  no  truths  to  cling  to." 

Brice  was  silent.  He  could  not  have  answered  this 
remark,  having  no  appropriate  words  at  his  command  ; 
it  was  Magdalen  who  next  spoke  again : 

"  It  is  better  to  have  your  brain  filled  with  one  thing 
— good  or  bad  according  to  your  natural  disposition — 
than  to  remain  a  blank  interval.  Forgive  a  musical 
idea — I  know  your  taste  does  not  lie  that  way.  Some- 
times a  discord  may  lead  up  to  a  perfectly  harmonious 
phrase ;  good  and  evil  are  so  truly  mixed,  that  it  is 
impossible  to  judge  and  to  discriminate  between  them. 
When  I  hear  men  and  women  trying  to  do  so,  I  think 
of  something  more  profitable." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Brice,  roused  at  last.  "  Excuse  me, 
your  argument  is  not  difficult  to  refute.  There  are 
broad  lines  which  are  easily  distinguished." 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  143 

Magdalen  laughed  softly  and  without  glee. 

"You  have  missed  the  wave  of  'heredity,'  which 
has  washed  our  shore  lately  and  swept  away  a  good 
deal  of  refuse.  There  has  been  a  heap  of  nonsense 
uttered,  still  much  of  it  has  been  unanswerable.  To 
judge  everything  you  must  know  everything,  but  it  is 
best  to  accept  all  limitation.  However,  I  am  sure,  Mr. 
Leslie,  that  we  shall  never  agree ;  why  discuss  these 
subjects  ?  A  woman  is  really  quite  unequal  to  argu- 
ment ;  she  loses  and  breaks  her  thread,  and  makes  but 
bungling  work  at  joining  it  again." 

Brice  was  a  little  piqued,  and  this  woman's  pride 
urged  him  on  against  his  better  judgment. 

"  To  live  without  sympathy  is  to  lose  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure." 

"  Sympathy  is  easily  obtained.  I  think,  on  the 
contrary,  that  much  of  the  sympathy  offered  by  out- 
siders is  pure  impertinence.  I  learnt  early  to  live 
without  it,  in  fact  to  dislike  it." 

At  this  moment  Lady  Mary  came  back,  and  was 
greeted  by  this  remark  from  the  beautiful  Magdalen : 

"  You  ought  not  to  leave  us  alone,  Lady  Mary. 
Mr.  Leslie  and  I  have  been  disagreeing ;  pray,  if  we 
are  both  to  take  a  part  in  your  play,  make  us  heredi- 
tary foes." 

"  Bravo  !  "  thought  Lady  Mary.  "  If  Magdalen 
takes  the  trouble  to  quarrel,  it  shows  she  is  interested. 
Courage,  I  see  daylight !  " 

"  Certainly,"  she  said  aloud  ;  "  implacable  enemies, 
10 


144 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


ending  with  death  or  disgrace ;  but,  unfortunately,  in 
plays  there  is  always  the  reconciliation  scene  at  the 
end.  It  leaves  the  audience  in  a  better  frame  of  mind, 
and  one  goes  home  vowing  to  forgive  and  forget  all 
one's  pet  aversions.  A  vow  which  is  forgotten  the 
next  morning." 

"  Rather,  to  forgive  but  never  to  forget,"  said 
Magdalen  scornfully.  She  rose  slowly  from  her  chair 
and  leant  against  a  tall  stone  vase  in  which  grew  a 
large  geranium  in  full  flower.  For  a  moment  her 
head  bent  towards  the  plant  and  her  cheek  rested 
against  some  red  petals.  It  was  a  beautiful  pose,  and 
Brice  was  fascinated.  Did  she  mean  him  to  be  ? 

ft  My  dear  Magdalen  !  take  care,  though  that  is  not 
a  pot  of  basil,"  said  Lady  Mary,  shooting  a  stray 
arrow  and  hitting  an  unexpected  mark. 

Magdalen  drew  back  quickly. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  she  said,  with  a  frown ;  and  on  her 
return  to  the  drawing-room  she  sat  down  at  the  piano 
and  played  on  without  her  notes  in  the  gathering 
darkness.  She  played  beautifully,  but  not  in  a  pro- 
fessional manner ;  her  expression  was  more  often 
according  to  her  feeling  of  the  moment  than  in  the 
spirit  of  perfect  interpretation  of  the  master,  and  to- 
night she  put  her  feelings  into  one  of  Chopin's  pathetic 
movements.  Lady  Mary  went  to  her  writing-table 
and  was  soon  absorbed  in  her  plays.  At  the  open 
window  Frank  Milton  now  and  then  paused  to  listen 
to  the  player,  and  Brice  soon  rose  to  join  him ;  when 


A   WOMAN   OF    FORTY.  145 

the  two  men  re-entered  the  room,  for  the  dew  was 
heavy,  they  found  the  ladies  in  their  gayest  mood. 

Magdalen  was  so  charming  that  Frank  Milton  re- 
marked to  himself :  "  The  Magdalen  has  either  guessed 
the  riddle,  or  is  beginning  one  of  her  campaigns;  I 
suppose  Leslie  is  the  game.  No  quarter  given,  but 
some  victims  prefer  death  to  hopeless  slavery.  Mary 
is  too  sanguine.  Who  can  bind  a  woman  of  forty  ? 
She  knows  every  dodge  and  has  learnt  every  artifice. 
Mary  always  says  1  am  unfair  to  her,  but,  all  the  same, 
I  am  inclined  to  say,  The  gods  preserve  him  !  " 

"  Pray,  Mary,"  he  continued  aloud,  "  have  you 
selected  your  play,  and  is  it  to  be  tragedy,  comedy, 
farce,  or  opera  ?  " 

"  I  have  settled  on  each  in  turn,  till  I'm  fairly  puz- 
zled. There's  '  Isabella '  for  a  tragedy,  but  really  so 
many  fine  murders  would  move  us  to  laughter.  '  The 
Rivals,'  humph,  we  know  it  pretty  well,  and  ten  to 
one  our  actors  will  insist  on  all  the  oaths  which  are 
classical  but  might  shock  ears  polite.  What  do  you 
say  to  '  Three  W7eeks  after  Marriage,'  Frank  ?  There 
are  only  eight  characters  in  it, — well,  no,  the  people 
are  too  ridiculous;  shall  we  have  to  come  down  to 
Shakspeare  ?  " 

"  I  advise  you,"  said  Magdalen,  rising,  "  to  get  a 
play  written  on  purpose,  to  'catch  the  manners  living 
as  they  rise  '  of  the  present  day." 

"  Shall  it  turn  on  learned  ladies  ?  No,  that  subject 
is  worn  out.  Few  gentlemen  nowadays  know  how  to 


146  A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY. 

value  the  'ineffectual  qualities'  in  a  woman,  as  Mrs. 
Malaprop  says.  Mr.  Leslie,  what  do  you  recommend  ? 
Frank  thinks  only  about  the  scenery." 

"Mr.  Leslie  has  no  patience  for  the  imaginary," 
said  Magdalen. 

"  I  am  only  a  learner,"  said  Brice. 

"What  a  pity  public  taste  has  so  much  deterio- 
rated," remarked  Lady  Mary  ;  "  here  is  a  lovely  pas- 
toral, called  '  Rosina,'  by  Mrs.  Brooke.  The  scene 
opens  and  discovers  a  rural  prospect — that  would  suit 
excellently  well ;  but  I  see  that  '  the  amiable  author- 
ess '  tells  us  in  her  preface  that  the  fable  of  this 
piece  is  taken  from  the  Book  of  Ruth, '  a  fable  equally 
simple,  moral,  and  interesting.1  Only  I  find  'Rosina' 
carefully  avoids  having  any  of  these  three  qualities. 
Was  public  taste  in  the  days  of  Mrs.  Brooke  better  or 
worse  than  our  own  ?  " 

"You  women  are  now  all  blast"  said  Frank. 

"And  men  dislike  all  that  is  simple  and  moral," 
added  Magdalen ;  "  but  I  see  Mrs.  Brooke  says  she 
added  the  comic  characters  of  William  and  Phoebe  '  at 
once  to  relieve  and  heighten  the  sentimental  cast  of 
the  other  personages.'  Evidently  every  age  has  its  cant. 
Imagine  adding  a  comic  element  to  the  Book  of  Ruth  ! " 

"And  our  cant  is  boredom,  I  suppose.  'Bored  to 
Death  '  would  be  a  good  title  for  an  unwritten  play," 
said  Frank. 

"  That  is  not  a  colonial  experience.  We  have  too 
much  to  do  to  waste  our  energies  in  that  way." 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


147 


"  Well,  really,  I  think  you  are  right.  That  young 
Miss  Foy  looks  too — well,  too  innocent,  to  be  bored," 
said  Magdalen.  "  Really  she  could  sing  Phoebe's  song. 
Do  listen  to  this;  I  believe,  Mary,  we  could  not  pro- 
vide better  comedy. 

" '  When  William  at  eve  meets  me  down  at  the  stile, 

How  sweet  is  the  nightingale's  song  ! 
Of  the  day  I  forget  all  the  labour  and  toil, 
While  the  moon  plays  yon  branches  among. 

" '  By  her  beams,  without  blushing,  I  hear  him  complain, 

And  believe  every  word  of  his  song  ; 
You  know  not  how  sweet  'tis  to  love  the  dear  swain 
Whilst  the  moon  plays  yon  branches  among.' " 

Magdalen  had  made  them  all  laugh,  but  Brice  was 
angry  with  himself  for  doing  so ;  he  hated  Griselda's 
name  having  been  mentioned,  and  yet  the  beauty  of 
this  scoffer  prevented  him  speaking  out,  so  now  and 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening  he  was  almost  silent. 

Magdalen  must  have  noticed  this,  for  when  they 
separated  she  found  herself  alone  with  him  for  a  few 
moments;  then  her  whole  tone  changed,  the  satirical 
smile  left  her  lips,  and  there  came  into  her  face  the 
earnest  look  he  had  seen  there  once  before. 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Leslie ;  you  think  that  I  fear 
neither  God  nor  man,  and  you  are  somewhat  scan- 
dalised?" her  lips  smiled  to  hide  the  ring  of  earnest- 
ness in  her  tone. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Brice  indifferently.  "  I  am  only 
sorry  to  be  behind  my  time." 

"  Sorry  ?     No,  be  glad,  and  believe  me  when  I  say 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

I — I  wish  I  were.  Good-night."  She  gave  him  her 
hand  as  a  child  might  have  done,  and  Brice's  anger 
melted  like  snow.  Was  all  the  worldliness  merely  a 
mask  to  hide  a  noble  soul  ?  At  this  moment  Brice 
Leslie  would  have  staked  his  life  on  an  affirmative 
answer  to  this  question.  As  it  was,  he  said  earnestly — 

"  Forgive  my  impatience  of  the  fashion  of  the  day 
You  will  think  I  am  a  poor  friend  to  distrust  so  easily." 

"  On  the  contrary,  other  men  are  only  eager  to  ap- 
plaud one's  foolish  moments." 

"I  give  up  the  choice  of  a  play,"  broke  in  Lady 
Mary,  reappearing.  "  Shall  we  have  scenes  ?  What ! 
are  you  two  quarrelling  again  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Magdalen  simply,  "  this  time  we  are 
making  up." 

"  Frank,  the  real  play  is  progressing,"  said  Lady 
Mary  joyously,  a  little  later  on,  "  those  two  are  exactly 
suited  to  each  other." 

"Why?"  asked  the  artist  lazily;  "  I  should  say 
Miss  Cuthbert  is  not  to  be  suited." 

"  Nonsense,  you  know  nothing  about  it ;  she  is  tired 
of  compliments,  and  here  is  a  man  who,  to  save  his 
life,  cannot  manufacture  more  than  one  a  day." 

"You  will  burn  your  fingers." 

"  I  shall  make  two  people  happy,  but,  dear  old  boy, 
never  fear,  I  shall  not  ask  you  to  help  me." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  success  of  everything  depended  on  the 
weather.  The  moon  had  kindly  consented  to  fall  in 
with  Lady  Mary  Milton's  plans;  but  would  it  be  fine? 
would  it  be  foggy  ?  or  would  a  heavy  dew  make 
future  rheumatism  a  present  certainty  ?  Like  a  born 
gambler,  Lady  Mary  staked  her  all  on  these  bare 
chances,  and  her  faith  was  rewarded.  She  resisted 
the  suggestion  of  an  afternoon  affair.  How  was  en- 
thusiasm to  be  generated  on  a  hot  afternoon  ?  No, 
evening  it  must  be;  the  lawn  must  be  illuminated; 
the  trees  festooned  with  lights — in  fact,  it  must  be 
Lady  Mary's  fairyland  realised.  To  do  anything  like 
this  badly  was  to  court  disgrace  and  failure.  An  en- 
tertainment which  turned  out  an  utter  fiasco  would, 
we  verily  believe,  have  broken  Lady  Mary's  heart. 
Her  popularity  depended  upon  it.  The  artists  would 
laugh  at  her  if  she  failed,  and  talk  of  nothing  else  if 
she  succeeded.  Frank's  sitters  would  be  more  numer- 
ous than  ever,  and  her  own  fame  more  firmly  assured. 
"  Besides,  besides,"  whispered  the  bold  lady  to  herself, 
"  they  have  had  so  much  time  to  themselves  that  I  am 
sure  of  success  in  that  quarter.  If  Brice  Leslie  is  not 
in  love,  then  I  resign  my  office." 


150 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


This  woman  was  a  greater  artist  than  her  husband, 
and  added  to  this  she  had  dramatic  power.  She  was, 
moreover,  a  born  general ;  nothing  was  too  minute 
for  her  to  overlook.  By  dint  of  hard  work  she  had 
got  together  her  actors  and,  what  was  quite  as  impor- 
tant, her  select  audience.  She  had  managed  to  avoid 
the  mass  of  country  neighbours,  but  she  had  selected 
the  few  who  would  make  the  affair  brilliant.  She  had 
got  hold  of  the  barristers,  and  the  clever  artists ;  even 
the  Duke  of  Blackwater,  having  got  scent  of  the 
affair,  had  managed  to  procure  an  invitation  for  him- 
self and  his  family.  The  Duke  was  distantly  con- 
nected with  Lady  Mary,  but  he  was  always  treated 
with  great  impartiality.  He  was  prouder  of  an  invita- 
tion from  her  than  of  many  more  apparently  greater 
honours.  He  would  declare  that  the  other  women  of 
fashion  gave  parties ;  no  one  but  Lady  Mary  entertained. 

"  They  fancy  it  comes  by  nature,  this  art  of  enter- 
taining," she  sometimes  said ;  "  on  the  contrary,  it  is 
consummate  skill ;  it  requires  more  practice  and  culti- 
vation than  Frank's  portrait  painting."  You  would 
have  endorsed  her  verdict,  had  you  seen  her  during 
this  time,  and  you  would  have  owned  that  it  required 
a  great  deal  of  courage  and  superb  faith  to  have 
staked  so  much  on  a  fine  evening. 

She  settled  the  question  of  the  play  at  last  by  ask- 
ing a  friend,  already  started  on  the  playwrights'  road, 
to  furnish  one  for  her,  and  if  it  was  good  his  reward 
was  certain.  She  was  going  to  ask  Acton  Roland,  the 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  !  5  x 

owner  of  the  Parthenon  Theatre,  to  her  fete;  he 
would  make  the  writer's  acquaintance,  and  thus  the 
author's  success  was  a  certainty.  Oliver  Selby  men- 
tally fell  at  Lady  Mary's  feet  and  worshipped  her.  He 
read  and  re-read  her  long  letter,  as  if  it  were  a  mes- 
sage from  the  Mahatmas.  She  had  given  him  the 
motif,  telling  him  he  must  manipulate  it  as  he  liked,  so 
he  shut  himself  up  for  a  day  and  a  night,  had  the  play 
type-written,  then  copied  a  dozen  times,  and  sent  off 
a  post  sooner  than  her  ladyship  had  commanded.  She 
sent  him  a  few  words  by  return — 

"  Excellent,  don't  forget  the  iyth  of  August.  I 
don't  put  '  weather  permitting,'  as  that  shows  so  little 
faith.  It  is  only  country  clergymen's  wives  who  do 
this.  Don't  thank  me,  I  give  you  a  Roland  for  your 
Oliver." 

Then  the  actors!  Only  Lady  Mary  herself  knew 
what  she  went  through  under  this  head,  for  no  one 
else  did.  She  had  the  further  merit  of  keeping  all  her 
failures  private,  so  that  in  this  way  it  appeared  she 
had  none. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  during  this  time 
Rosehill  was  in  a  state  of  confusion  ;  on  the  contrary, 
the  dolce  far  niente  life  went  on  to  perfection,  only  the 
hostess  was  invisible  during  the  morning  hours.  The 
host  had  discovered  a  village  girl  who  would  serve 
excellently  as  model,  and  the  rest  of  the  day  he  went 
out  fishing.  "  To  think,"  said  his  wife,  "  that  Frank 
actually  likes  standing  at  one  end  of  the  rod  waiting 


152 


A  WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 


for  the  fishes  to  appear  at  the  other  !  No,  the  art  of 
fishing  passes  my  comprehension,  but  I  know,  as  Frank 
undertakes  it,  it  is  a  just  and  honourable  calling." 

Politeness  required  Brice  to  entertain  Miss  Cuth- 
bert.  In  the  morning  there  was  the  long  pleasant 
dawdle  after  breakfast  on  the  terrace  or  the  saunter 
through  the  conservatory.  When  Magdalen  was  in 
her  most  agreeable  frame  of  mind  she  would  ask  Brice 
about  his  New  Zealand  experience  and  his  journeys  in 
the  interior.  Now  and  then,  however,  she  would,  by 
one  of  her  cynical  remarks,  make  him  relapse  into 
silence ;  but  then  she  could  easily  chase  away  his  dis- 
pleasure by  one  of  her  smiles,  or  by  a  small  gesture  of 
deprecating  contrition.  At  other  times  she  would  rise 
and  go  hastily  away  to  the  morning-room,  where  she 
spent  her  time  in  writing  letters  in  order  to  make 
Brice  repent  of  his  silence  in  solitary  leisure. 

Once  during  a  New  Zealand  talk  Brice  inadvert- 
ently mentioned  Chester's  name,  then  paused,  remem- 
bering everything,  and  remembering  also  his  promise 
not  again  to  recur  to  this  subject.  Magdalen  met  his 
eyes  and  saw  his  look  of  contrition. 

"Go  on,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  Chester  one  day  saved  my  life,  but  it  is  a  long 
story."  Brice  paused. 

"  Tell  it  to  me,"  said  Magdalen,  almost  under  her 
breath.  So  Brice  retailed  a  bush  adventure,  in  which 
Percy  Chester's  heroic  efforts  had  saved  his  friend 
from  certain  death  after  a  fall  from  a  tree. 


A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY.  ^3 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Magdalen,  with  a  little  sigh. 
It  was  the  sigh  of  a  tired  child.  "You,  too,  were  very 
good  to  him,  I  am  sure." 

"  He  was  my  friend." 

Magdalen  rose  and  went  away  after  this  conversa- 
tion, but  soon  the  sounds  of  music  in  gentler,  more 
subdued  tones  than  were  usually  heard  when  Miss 
Cuthbert  was  at  the  piano  were  wafted  through  the 
open  French  windows. 

Brice  remained  on  the  terrace  dreamily  listening 
until  he  took  out  a  letter  from  his  pocket — a  letter  he 
had  read  but  very  hastily  at  breakfast,  and  now  wished 
to  read  again. 

It  was  one  of  Griselda's  simple  epistles,  full  of  joy- 
ous happiness,  full,  too,  of  little  nothings  which  she 
was  sure  would  interest  Brice. 

"When  you  come  back,"  she  added,  "we  will  have 
two  canoes  and  race  down  the  canal.  There  is  a  man 
near  Aldershot  who  keeps  them — little  beauties  they 
are.  Mind  you  enjoy  yourself,  dear  old  Brice !  Tell 
me  if  you  still  admire  Miss  Cuthbert ;  you  were  not  so 
much  smitten  with  her  as  I  was.  I  mean  soon  to  come 
and  stay  with  my  cousins  if  I  can  be  spared,  and  we 
could  meet  sometimes.  No  one  will  discover  we  are 
lovers.  Won't  it  be  charming  !  " 

All  at  once  Lady  Mary  came  out  accompanied  by 
Miss  Cuthbert.  The  former  held  a  bundle  of  papers 
in  her  hands. 

"  It  is  all  settled,"  she  said ;  "  here  is  my  play,  and 


154 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


now  for  my  actors.  I  know  that  they  are  proverbially 
tiresome  people.  My  playwright  has  done  well,  I  give 
him  credit ;  but  he  sends  a  pathetic  appeal  about  the 
actors.  Listen  :  '  For  Heaven's  sake,  dear  Lady  Mary, 
fly  from  unworthy  amateurs.  It  will  now  be  possible 
to  get  down  some  professionals.  You  have  only  to 
wire,  and  I  will  arrange  it  all.  It  will  ruin  my  pros- 
pects and  your  party  if  you  admit  bungling  actors.'  " 

"Authors  are  proverbially  susceptible,"  said  Mag- 
dalen, casting  her  eyes  over  some  loose  pages  of  type- 
writing. "  Here  are  seven  characters  in  the  play ;  this 
necessitates  three  or  four  of  the  actors  being  really 
good." 

"  Excuse  me,  Magdalen,  all  of  them  must  be  good. 
In  short  plays,  the  whole  must  be  perfect.  If  a  dia- 
mond is  small,  let  it  be  of  the  first  water,  and  no  black 
speck  visible.  But  you  can  have  the  part  of  Esther,  I 
am  bent  on  that ;  I  am  come  to  ask  Mr.  Leslie  if  he 
will  undertake  the  hero — save  the  mark  ! — for  our  hero 
is  very  weak.  I  have  a  recollection  of  hearing  you 
had  talents  in  the  acting  line,  but  I  shall  trust  you  all 
in  all,  or  not  at  all." 

"As  a  young  man,"  said  Brice,  taking 'the  copy  in 
his  hand,  "  I  believed  I  could  play  all  parts.  I  am 
more  diffident  now,  but  when  I  have  read  the  play  I 
will  give  you  a  faithful  answer." 

"  The  truth  is,  I  prefer  good  amateurs  in  a  thing  of 
this  kind  to  your  mediocre  professionals.  They  have 
little  tricks  and  mannerisms  to  which  only  distance 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  155 

can  lend  enchantment.  True,  they  make  themselves 
heard,  but  some  of  their  vulgar  additions  are  better 
not  heard.  Captain  Sparks  will  do  Sir  Anthony  Croft 
to  perfection  ;  you,  Magdalen,  shall  be  the  rich  Esther, 
but  what  about  Meta  Bruce  ?  I  declare  that  pretty 
Miss  Foy  would  suit  admirably,  only  I  should  doubt 
if  acting  were  in  her  line  ;  do  you  know,  Mr.  Leslie  ?" 

"  No,  oh  no,  I  am  sure  she  could  not  do  it,"  said 
Brice  quickly.  Griselda  should  not  come  into  all  this. 

"  Well,  there  is  that  nice  little  actress,  Lottie  Lin- 
den ;  she  acts  very  well,  though  she  can  do  nothing 
else.  Strange  that  that  gift  is  sometimes  the  one 
talent  of  stupid  people,  I  suppose  because  they  pos- 
sess a  high  degree  of  receptiveness.  I  will  telegraph 
to  her.  Mr.  Bruce  the  lawyer  must  be  well  done,  I 
think  he  shall  be  a  professional — tricks  will  not  mat- 
ter ;  and  also  for  the  butler — amateurs  overdo  serv- 
ants. The  Jew — anyone  can  do  that." 

Brice,  who  had  been  casting  his  eyes  over  the  play, 
now  looked  up. 

"  This  is  a  difficult  part,  leave  me  out."  He  found 
Magdalen  looking  at  him. 

"  If  you  can  act  at  all  it  will  not  be  very  difficult. 
Please  say  'yes.'  " 

"  Do  you  wish  it  ?  "  said  Brice.  He  did  not  know 
that  he  was  being  led  away  by  the  sudden  gentleness 
of  Magdalen's  voice. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  cannot   refuse,"   said   Lady   Mary,   success- 


1 56 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


fully  hiding  the  smile  of  pleasure  that  came  to  her 
lips.  To  see  Magdalen  asking  a  favour  of  anyone 
was  a  strange  sight.  At  that  moment  the  little  lady 
would  have  staked  a  very  high  sum  on  her  success. 

"  Very  well,  I  accept." 

"  Now  I  see  triumph  before  me,"  said  Lady  Mary. 
"  Discuss  your  parts  and,  pray,  do  not  fail  me.  Leave 
the  rest  to  me.  We  will  rehearse  the  evening  before- 
By  the  way,  I'll  write  a  note  to  the  pretty  New  Zea- 
lander ;  she  will  be  a  help,  or  shall  I  say  an  inspira- 
tion ?  " 

Lady  Mary  was  gone  before  Brice  could  answer, 
and  he  was  left  alone  with  Miss  Cuthbert,  who  was 
reading  the  play  entitled  "  Unlimited  Credit." 

"  Not  bad,  but  it  all  depends  on  good  acting.  It 
is  a  pity  life's  success  cannot  be  as  well  assured  be- 
forehand as  a  play,"  said  Magdalen. 

"  What  ?     Assured  by  good  acting  ? " 

"  Yes,  when  good  earnest  fails." 

Frank  Milton  adored  fishing  more  than  ever  during 
this  period  of  probation ;  Magdalen  in  her  new  mood 
upset  his  calculations ;  he  was  rather  sorry  for  Leslie, 
for  he  could  not  doubt  that  if  Miss  Cuthbert  resolved 
on  conquest  she  would  succeed.  This  play  seemed 
the  last  link  in  the  chain  of  events,  but  outsiders,  we 
are  told,  see  more  of  the  game  than  the  actors  them- 
selves, and  strangely  enough  something  was  taking 
place  which  no  one  could  have  foreseen.  Magdalen 
had  found  Brice  difficult  to  attract ;  she  had  begun 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

playing  with  fire,  and  suddenly  she  had  felt  its 
warmth.  Brice  was  very  unlike  Percy  Chester,  but 
to  Magdalen  he  seemed  as  if  he  inherited  all  the  good 
points  in  his  character  and  none  of  the  evil.  Now 
and  then  she  suddenly  stopped  short  in  some  cynical 
remark,  because  she  knew  he  would  disapprove.  Mag- 
dalen was  angry  with  herself  and  determined  not  to  be 
conquered.  Only  one  human  being  had  ever  enslaved 
her  will  and  her  heart,  and  she  had  long  ago  resolved 
that  none  other  should  do  it  again.  Had  she  been  en- 
tirely devoid  of  noble  qualities  she  would  have  been 
able  to  keep  this  resolution  ;  as  it  was,  she  was  horri- 
fied to  find  herself  caring — yes,  caring  for  Brice's 
good  opinion. 

As  for  Brice,  he  shut  his  eyes  to  everything ;  he 
called  nothing  by  its  right  name,  and  he  refused  to 
see  that  he  was  running  into  danger.  Miss  Cuthbert 
was  beautiful,  clever,  fascinating,  but  how  plainly  also 
could  he  see  her  faults — and  a  lover  never  sees  faults  ; 
there  was  but  one  perfect  woman  for  him,  and  that 
was  Griselda  Foy.  In  the  meanwhile  "  Unlimited 
Credit ''  was  studied ;  now  and  then  the  two  began 
to  rehearse,  till  laughter  or  discussion  made  them 
break  off. 

Magdalen  one  day  found  herself  dressing  in  blue, 
because  Brice  had  admired  that  colour.  When  she 
realised  what  she  was  doing,  she  paused  before  her 
pier  glass,  and  blushing,  even  though  she  was  alone, 
angrily  threw  off  the  dress. 


158  A   WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  No,"  she  murmured,  "  let  him  like  the  colour  I 
wear;  why  should  I  care  about  his  taste?  That 
weakness  was  only  for  him,  only  for  him,  and  he  did 
not  care  enough ;  but  I  was  not  altogether  mistaken ; 
for  this  man — this  Brice — he  loved  him,  knowing 
everything.  Brice  is  a  true  friend.  Brice — Brice. 
No,  the  name  cannot  raise  the  same  echo  as  Percy. 
I  am  a  fool,  a  fool !  "  Then  she  leant  back  in  the 
great  arm-chair  near  the  window  and  softly  hummed 
an  old  French  song — 

"  Hellas  !  pourquoy  m'a-t-il  lessee? 
Je  ne  luy  ay  ne  fait  ne  dit 
J'avoye  mys  mon  amour  en  luy, 
Mais  je  voy  bien  qu'il  m'a  trompee 
Que  veux  tu  que  je  te  donne  ? 
Je  t'ai  deja  trop  donne  : 
Je  t'ai  donn6  une  rose, 
La  plus  belle  de  mes  roses 
Que  j'  avals  sur  mon  rosier." 

"There  it  is,"  she  thought,  "the  thing  is  as  old  as 
creation.  I  am  not  the  first  woman  who  has  been 
forsaken  and  left  with  a  bare  rose-bush.  What  is  the 
worth  of  a  late  autumn  bud  ?  It  has  no  scent,  it  only 
looks  ridiculous." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  however,  she  noticed  Brice 
below,  pacing  up  and  down  the  terrace ;  she  could  see 
the  tall,  manly  figure,  the  broad  shoulders,  the  profile 
perdu  of  the  grave,  earnest  face ;  the  bearing  entirely 
free  from  the  superiority  of  the  sex ;  and  once  more 
she  seemed  to  hear  again  his  few  words,  "  He  was  my 
friend ! " 


A  WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 


159 


He,  Percy,  would  have  liked  to  have  heard  those 
words.  If  love  cannot  come  twice,  then  there  is  some- 
thing very  beautiful  in  friendship.  She  rose  slowly, 
and  in  a  deprecating  manner  she  opened  a  drawer  and 
took  from  it  a  soft  blue  wrap,  which  she  threw  in  a 
careless  picturesque  manner  round  her  shoulders.  She 
had  conquered  in  the  question  of  the  dress,  but  she 
compromised  it  with  the  shawl. 

A  few  moments  afterwards  the  two  were  walking 
side  by  side,  but  the  usual  flow  of  conversation  was 
conspicuous  by  its  absence.  Silence  is  sometimes 
very  unwise  in  spite  of  its  being  called  golden  by  the 
proverb. 

This  little  episode  took  place  only  three  days  be- 
fore the  play  was  to  be  acted,  and  it  was  the  same  day 
on  which  Lady  Mary  received  a  letter  from  Griselda, 
saying  how  much  she  would  have  liked  to  accept  her 
invitation,  but  she  had  already  promised  to  stay  with 
her  cousins,  the  Hopes,  at  the  Rectory.  If  she  might 
come  and  see  the  play  and  help  in  any  possible  way, 
she  would  be  delighted  to  do  so. 

Lady  Mary  tossed  the  note  lightly  towards  Magda- 
len. The  gentlemen  had  already  gone  out ;  now  that 
some  practical  results  were  required,  Frank  Milton 
gave  up  his  fishing,  and  he  and  Brice  were  delighted 
to  turn  carpenters,  to  plan,  paint,  and  put  up  rustic 
seats.  A  stage  was  erected ;  carpenters  came  from 
the  village,  one  from  town,  bringing  with  him  an 
upholsterer,  who  found  that  instead  of  telling  his 


A  WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 

employer  what  was  the  fashion,  he  had  only  meekly 
to  listen,  take  orders,  and  if  he  deviated  from  the 
right  road  he  had  to  retrace  his  steps.  Rosehill  was 
closely  shut  off  from  the  outer  world,  for  on  the  im- 
portant day  everything  was  to  be  surprise.  Even  the 
weather-glass  appeared  to  behave  with  wonderful  con- 
sideration, going  down  a  little,  and  then  making  a 
bound  upwards  on  the  evening  of  the  rehearsal. 
There  were  slight  drawbacks,  but  not  many,  the  gen- 
eralship had  been  too  superb.  The  supper-tent  sent 
from  London  had  mirrors  down  its  seams.  Frank 
Milton  exclaimed  in  dismay  that  an  artist  could  not 
endure  this,  but  flowers  were  soon  procured  to  hide 
this  barbarism. 

Just  before  the  rehearsal,  Brice  Leslie  had  a  note 
given  to  him.  It  was  from  Griselda1,  telling  him  of 
her  arrival,  and  begging  him  to  come  and  see  her  that 
evening,  if  possible,  or,  if  not,  to  come  the  next  morn- 
ing. There  was  more  than  enough  to  do,  so  he  really 
found  it  impossible  to  comply  with  her  request  that 
evening,  for  the  actor  who  had  to  play  the  butler  did 
not  turn  up,  and  Brice  read  the  part.  Lady  Mary 
often  wanted  a  messenger,  and  Frank  appreciated 
Brice's  engineering  skill,  whilst  even  Magdalen  ap- 
pealed to  him.  The  result  of  the  rehearsal,  however, 
was  brilliant ;  at  least,  Lady  Mary  smiled  when  it  was 
over ;  she  knew  that  any  small  hitch  or  imperfection 
would  disappear  on  the  next  night.  The  trial  illumi- 
nation was  successful ;  Rosehill  gardens  looked  like 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  j6i 

fairyland,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  this  her  ladyship  had 
time  to  note  progress  in  her  love-story. 

"  The  experiment  has  been  successful ;  if  Magdalen 
is  not  in  love  I  do  not  know  womankind;  and  as  for 
Brice  Leslie — but  that  was  a  foregone  conclusion, 
given  the  Magdalen's  wish  for  such  a  realisation." 
Thus,  to  herself,  spoke  the  brilliant  hostess  of  Rose- 
hill. 

The  day  of  the  play  dawned  at  last — hot,  cloudless, 
a  dry  heat  which  betokened  no  great  continuance  of 
this  perfection  of  weather,  but  which  drove  away  fears 
of  rheumatism.  There  was  little  left  to  be  done; 
Lady  Mary  hated  hurry  and  flurry,  calmness  being  an 
essential  part  of  her  talent. 

"We  are  ready,"  she  said  after  breakfast,  "and  I 
must  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Leslie.  Of  course,  I  knew 
all  about  Miss  Cuthbert's  talent  beforehand,  but  really 
last  night  you  seemed  to  understand  each  other  per- 
fectly." Lady  Mary  tried  to  say  this  in  an  indifferent 
manner,  but  Magdalen  answered — 

"There  is  nothing  much  to  understand  in  such  a 
simple  part,  and  the  professional  kindly  praised  me. 
I  admire  the  way  they  scorn  us,  as  if  ladies  did  not 
understand  being  themselves  better  than  any  of  them 
can  play  at  being  someone  else.  But  if  you  don't 
mind,  Mr.  Leslie,  I  should  prefer  rehearsing  the  last 
scene  once  again  presently." 

"  Of  course."  Then  Brice  remembered  that  he  was 
not  a  free  man  this  morning,  and  found  an  excuse,  but 


j62  A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 

not  the  real  one.  Magdalen  believed  it,  and  agreed 
to  put  off  rehearsing  till  later  on  in  the  afternoon. 

The  Rectory  was  some  ten  minutes'  walk  from 
Rosehill,  and  it  would  not  take  Brice  long  to  reach 
the  pretty  gabled  house,  but  he  walked  slowly  all  the 
way.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  in  a  dream.  He  did  not 
argue  out  anything,  he  was  in  a  dazed  state  of  mind 
which  he  did  not  analyse.  Why  should  he  ? 

When  he  reached  the  Vicarage,  he  was  met  by  Mrs. 
Hope,  a  little  woman  of  great  common  sense  but  of 
small  imagination. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Leslie  ?  How  curious  you 
should  come  just  now.  Griselda  said  most  likely 
you  would  call,  as  you  are  neighbours  at  home  and 
know  her  people  so  well ;  but  the  dear  child  has  sacri- 
ficed herself ;  she  is  playing  the  organ,  and  she  has 
undertaken  a  choir  practice  to  save  me,  the  school- 
master having  gone  away  for  his  holiday.  I  can't  ask 
you  to  go  the  church,  as  it  disturbs  the  boys  to  see 
strangers  ;  do  stay  an  hour,  and  then  she  will  be 
free." 

"  How  could  Griselda  be  so  good-natured ! " 
thought  Brice.  Should  he  stay  ?  No,  he  might  be 
wanted.  He  took  out  his  card  and  wrote  at  the  back 
of  it — 

"  So  sorry  not  to  see  you,  but  I  must  run  back. 
Come  early.  Lady  Mary  expects  you,  but  I  fear  I 
shall  be  invisible  till  after  the  play.  B.  L." 

Then  he  said  a  few  nothings  to   Mrs.  Hope,  and, 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY.  ^3 

instead  of  altering  his  course,  returned  the  way  he 
came,  much  as  did  the  disobedient  prophet  of  old. 

He  was  not  rewarded  ;  the  small  drawing-room  was 
empty  ;  the  large  one  was  taken  up  with  actors,  serv- 
ants, people  coming  and  going,  and,  impatient  of  cir- 
cumstances, Brice  Leslie,  still  in  his  dreamy  mood, 
wandered  out  into  the  shrubberies,  then  slowly  he 
made  his  way  to  the  summer-house.  He  sat  down  and 
gazed  at  the  scene  before  him.  The  distant  corn  was 
partly  reaped,  what  remained  uncut  was  bending  with 
a  slight  undulating  motion,  causing  shadowed  ripples 
to  appear  on  its  indented  surface.  Beyond,  dark 
green  trees  surrounded  with  a  soft  haze  of  heat,  hills 
of  deep  blue,  then  more  distant  blue  trees,  and  coming 
towards  him  on  waves  of  softest  air  sweet  sounds  of 
Nature  were  audible — the  skylark's  calls,  the  softest 
buzz  of  gnats,  the  passing  bees,  the  dull  drone  of  the 
humble-bee,  the  bursting  of  fir-cones  like  miniature 
artillery  reports  from  the  muskets  of  some  fairy 
regiments.  Then,  all  at  once  the  summer-house 
seemed  too  confined  for  him,  he  walked  slowly  out 
of  it  and  stretched  himself  down  on  the  delicious 
heather,  here  growing  high  and  tender.  Everything 
around  him  was  blue  and  beautiful,  and  after  a  long 
time  a  portion  of  the  blue  sky  above  him  seemed  to 
detach  itself  and  suddenly  to  become  a  soft  down-like 
cloud.  From  it  rose  a  beautiful  head  with  waving 
hair  in  rich  profusion,  blue  eyes  full  of  deep  meaning 
and  scornful  sadness  changing  into  unutterable  yearn- 


164 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


ing — and  then,  blotting  out  everything  came  a  smile, 
good  heavens!  a  smile  sweet  enough  to  turn  a  man's 
brain,  so  full  was  it  of  softness  and  tenderness,  such 
as  he  had  never  seen  before. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  found  Magdalen  by  his 
side.  Not  knowing  what  he  did  he  held  out  his  hand, 
but  he  said  nothing.  Suddenly  the  smile  in  her  face 
died  away,  the  lips  quivered,  and  very  gently  she  put 
her  hand  into  his,  but  she  too  was  silent. 

In  another  moment,  however,  Magdalen's  voice 
broke  the  stillness. 

"  I  came  to  fetch  you,"  she  said,  and  suddenly  she 
let  go  his  hand ;  but  it  was  too  late,  he  had  felt  her 
touch  in  his  innermost  being ;  outwardly  he  remained 
calm  and  followed  her,  merely  saying  "  Thank  you," 
but  his  whole  soul  was  transformed,  his  life  changed. 

That  was  the  real  play  they  played — what  was  to 
follow  was  merely  a  farce  ! 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THERE  is  a  certain  class  of  French  writers  who  ap- 
pear to  have  been  apprenticed — for  a  year  at  least — to 
the  most  fashionable  upholsterer  of  the  time,  so  clever 
are  they  in  their  descriptions  of  furniture  and  of  dress. 
This  inventory-taking  is  not  a  difficult  trade  to  learn, 
but  the  question  remains  whether  it  in  any  way  con- 
duces to  make  the  reader  realise  the  room,  the  place, 
even  the  women  whose  clothes  are  so  minutely  tran- 
scribed for  them.  Take  a  Van  Beere  and  a  Claude 
Monet,  place  them  side  by  side,  and  you  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  deciding  that  the  first,  with  its  wonderful 
finish,  is  on  the  verge  of  being  vulgar,  whilst  the  other 
at  once  raises  the  imagination  to  a  high  level.  In  like 
manner  a  reader's  imagination  supplies  far  truer  de- 
tails than  word-painting  can  ever  give,  details  which, 
instead  of  diminishing  from  the  effect,  serve  to  en- 
hance it. 

The  French  author,  however,  was  not  present  at 
Lady  Mary's  party  at  Rosehill,  yet  some  English  au- 
thor certainly  must  have  been  there  who,  on  this  oc- 
casion, turned  journalist  or  reporter,  for,  the  next  day, 
the  London  evening  papers  described  the  lively  scene, 


j66  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

and  the  day  after  the  county  journals  had  full  details, 
though  most  of  these  were  not  true  to  life.  The  chief 
names  were,  of  course,  duly  chronicled,  though  they 
became  slightly  altered  before  the  world  read  their 
titles.  The  Duke  of  Blackwater  was  said  to  be  accom- 
panied by  the  Duchess,  the  truth  being  Her  Grace  was 
not  there;  but  two  of  the  Duke's  fair  and  stout 
daughters  took  her  place,  whilst  their  brother,  Lord 
Colefoot,  came  direct  from  London,  he  having  been  in 
town  "on  business"  of  his  own  invention. 

Titles,  like  silver  in  the  days  of  Solomon,  were  of 
no  account  that  evening.  Their  owners  hoped,  by 
their  presence  and  their  affability,  to  secure  a  promise 
of  a  picture ;  but  Frank  Milton  was,  to  use  a  common 
expression  (trade  and  art  have  interchanged  terms), 
booked  for  two  years  ahead ;  he  therefore  accepted 
the  many  gracious  smiles  he  received  as  a  personal 
tribute  to  Lady  Mary.  The  business  of  the  guests  was 
to  admire  his  wife  and  her  unique  party,  on  which  oc- 
casion the  fashionable  artist  had  turned  into  a  stage- 
manager.  Of  course  there  were  brother  artists  there; 
one  of  them  remarked  that  stage-painting  was  more  in 
Milton's  line  than  portraits,  whilst  the  great  Tongham 
put  up  his  eyeglass  and  said  "  Humph  " — an  expres- 
sion which  meant  he  was  thankful  he  was  not  another 
inglorious  Milton. 

The  local  papers  expatiated  on  the  ladies'  dresses 
and  on  the  illumination.  They  made  jokes  on  the 
stars,  the  shining  eyes  of  the  galaxy  of  beauty.  An- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  ^7 

other  Evening  News  understood  that  the  play  had  been 
written  for  the  occasion  and  had  been  rehearsed  a 
hundred  times,  so  no  wonder  the  acting  was  so  perfect. 
The  South  Courier  remarked  that  the  well-known  and 
much  admired  Miss  Cuthbert  acted  divinely,  and  was 
said  to  bear  away  the  palm  from  Miss  Lottie  Linden 
of  the  Star  Theatre,  which  paragraph  made  Miss  Lot- 
tie throw  down  the  paper  in  disgust  and  mutter  some- 
thing about  the  snobbism  of  county  papers,  but  she 
too,  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  had  admired  Miss 
Cuthbert's  performance,  never  having  seen  such  good 
acting  in  anyone  who  was  not  "in. the  profession." 

As  for  the  illuminations,  the  descriptions  all  agreed 
that  such  tastefully-arranged  festoons  of  light  had 
never  been  seen  before.  Such  a  union  of  art  and 
nature  had  seldom  been  so  successfully  accomplished, 
and  Lady  Mary's  luck  in  having  a  perfectly  hot  and 
dry  evening  was  unprecedented.  All  the  fine  descrip- 
tions both  pleased  and  saddened  the  persons  who  were 
not  present. 

Oliver  Selby  had  come  early,  but  he  was  in  such  a 
nervous  and  anxious  state  of  mind  that  he  wished 
himself  away.  He  carefully  avoided  the  great  Acton 
Roland  who  sat  in  a  vast  arm-chair  worthy  of  the  sit- 
ter's proportions,  and  listened  attentively,  applauded 
seldom,  and  kept  his  opinion  wrapped  away  in  his  own 
soul.  If  many  hang  on  your  words,  it  is  wiser  the 
words  should  be  few,  and  Acton  Roland  feared  and 
avoided  private  theatricals  as  other  people  fear  and 


!68  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

avoid  a  cholera-stricken  district.  Only  an  immense 
belief  in  Lady  Mary,  and  a  wish  to  have  his  name 
mentioned  after  or  before  that  of  the  Duke  of  Black- 
water,  drew  him  to  Rosehill ;  but  he  was  heard  to  say 
afterwards  that  really  he  had  thoroughly  enjoyed  him- 
self;  that  well,  yes,  he  had  not  refused  to  have  young 
Oliver  Selby  introduced  to  him. 

This  latter  was  so  much  perturbed  when  he  was  pre- 
sented to  the  great  man  that,  in  reply  to  his  remark, 
"  A  very  nice  play,  Mr.  Selby,  allow  me  to  congratu- 
late you,"  he  stammered  forth — 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  very  nice  play — I  mean,  it  might  be 
improved." 

"  I  was  going  to  say  so,"  said  the  owner  of  the 
Parthenon.  "  In  fact  that  is  what  most  struck  me 
in  it." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Oliver  Selby,  recovering  his 
self-possession,  "  it  could  be  altered,  but  the  altera- 
tions might  not  improve  it."  The  great  man  put  his 
eye-glasses  again  in  their  exact  position  and  looked 
his  author  over  from  head  to  foot ;  then  he  said  to 
himself  that  Selby  was  not  a  fool,  and  secretly  de- 
cided that  he  would  take  the  play  and  try  it  at  the 
Parthenon,  with  alterations,  of  course,  though  even 
with  amateurs  it  had  acted  splendidly. 

"  Alterations  certainly  would  improve  it ;  your  end 
is  poor,  the  stage  would  require  something  better  fin- 
ished. But,  if  you  will  call  upon  me  in  six  weeks' 
time,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  discuss  it  with  you ;  after 


A   WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  169 

that  we  can  see.  By  Jove,  though,  that  Miss  Cuth- 
bert  is  a  loss  to  the  stage." 

Lady  Mary  had  been  as  good  as  her  word,  it  was  a 
Roland  for  her  Oliver. 

But  this  conversation  is  premature. 

The  company  were  asked  to  come  at  eight  o'clock, 
and  this  time  curiosity  made  them  punctual.  As  the 
party  was  not  to  be  the  usual  entertainment  known  by 
the  name  of  a  "  Squash,"  those  invited  did  not  put  off 
their  carriages  till  the  last  possible  moment;  but  some 
time  before  the  first  of  the  carriage-folk  was  an- 
nounced Griselda  Foy  appeared  at  Rosehill. 

She  wanted  to  help  in  the  preparations  as  much  as 
possible,  and  further  she  was  prepared  to  enjoy  her- 
self. She  had  been  much  disappointed  at  having 
missed  Brice,  but  she  knew  that  he  was  busy,  and  she 
was  not  going  to  worry  him  on  account  of  her  disap- 
pointment. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hope  were  to  come  later — Lady 
Mary  had  made  an  exception  in  their  favour;  but 
Griselda,  wrapping  a  cloak  over  her  white  dress,  en- 
tered the  Rosehill  grounds  soon  after  seven  o'clock. 
The  hostess  was  giving  a  last  look  round.  As  she 
caught  sight  of  this  first  guest  she  was  suddenly 
struck  by  the  girl's  unconsciousness  of  her  own  Un- 
dine-like beauty  and  simplicity,  a  simplicity  which  had 
nothing  inane  or  silly  about  it.  Some  men,  she 
thought,  would  fall  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight,  not 
a  man  like  Brice,  but  still — was  there  any  danger  ?  It 


170 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


was  only  a  stray  thought  that  flashed  through  her 
brain,  and  she  dismissed  it  at  once.  The  next  moment 
she  was  the  gracious  hostess. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Foy,  you  see  I  am 
not  dressed  yet.  What  do  you  say  of  the  present  ap- 
pearance of  the  lawn  ?  The  grand  transformation 
scene  will  come  later,  but  these  summer-houses  full  of 
flowers  and  twinkling  lights  have  already  a  pretty 
effect.  The  guests  are  to  explore  the  domain  at  their 
own  sweet  will,  and  the  stage  is  only  to  be  revealed 
when  the  play  is  ready  to  begin.  Everyone  likes  a 
little  surprise,  a  childish  feeling  one  never  gets  over." 

"  It  is  like  fairyland,"  said  Griselda.  "  What  can  I 
do  to  make  it  still  more  perfect  ?  In  New  Zealand  we 
should  never  have  thought  of  all  this,  though  we  had 
such  exquisite  flowers  all  about  us." 

"  Art  and  nature  can  combine  in  practised  hands 
But  come  into  the  house  ;  I  want  little  bouquets  made 
up — that  is,  if  you  will  condescend  to  help  Miss  Cuth- 
bert,  who  is  doing  them  all  alone." 

"  I  should  like  it  above  all  things,"  said  Griselda. 

She  was  longing  to  see  again  the  divinity  whom 
she  had  so  much  admired. 

In  another  minute  she  was  in  her  presence.  Mag- 
dalen was  dressed  in  a  beautifully-fitting  tea-gown  of 
wondrous  salmon-coloured  silk.  She  was  not  to  be 
seen  on  the  stage  till  the  right  moment,  so  she  had 
offered  to  manipulate  flowers.  She  looked  up  as  Lady 
Mary  introduced  Griselda,  and  a  sudden  idea  also 


A   WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


171 


struck  her,  so  vague  and  undefined,  however,  that  she 
did  not  frame  it  into  words — 

"  Here  is  our  brave  New  Zealand  amazon,"  said 
Lady  Mary.  "  I  think,  Magdalen,  she  looks  now  more 
like  an  Undine  fresh  from  the  spring.  Make  her  use- 
ful. I  must  dress  and  see  to  a  few  last  details,  so 
that  nothing  shall  fail." 

Magdalen  paused  a  moment,  and  as  if  by  common 
consent  the  two  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  Gri- 
selda  was  thinking  how  beautiful  and  how  fascinating 
was  her  companion,  and  Magdalen  said  to  herself, 
"  She  is  his  neighbour."  Then  a  smile  parted  her  lips 
at  the  bare  idea  that  there  could  be  any  rivalry  be- 
tween them.  Rivalry  !  Why  ?  What  about  ?  She 
had  not  given  in — not  yet,  even  though  her  heart  still 
beat  quicker  at  the  remembrance  of  that  meeting  near 
the  summer-house,  where  Brice  had  so  clearly,  if  mute- 
ly, revealed  his  soul  to  her. 

"  Sit  down,  Miss  Foy ;  you  must  not  soil  your  hands 
or  your  gloves  with  these  flowers,  but  I  am  glad  of 
your  company.  What  did  you  think  just  now  of  your 
first  peep  at  Lady  Mary's  fairyland  ?  " 

"  It  is  fairyland  !  How  fortunate  that  it  is  such  a 
warm  evening ;  everything  is  perfect ;  and  the  play, 
that  I  am  sure  will  be  perfect  too,  if — if  you  are  to  act 
in  it." 

Griselda's  eyes  expressed  her  admiration,  and  for  a 
moment  Magdalen  smiled.  She  was  not  so  much  ac- 
customed to  the  admiration  of  her  own  sex  as  to  make 


I>j2  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

this  homage  unpleasant ;  on  the  contrary  it  gave  her 
intense  satisfaction,  for  Miss  Foy  was  herself  beauti- 
ful, though  of  such  a  different  type  of  beauty.  A  new 
conquest  is  more  appreciated,  if  it  is  itself  worth  con- 
quering. 

"  Lady  Mary  will  not  countenance  imperfection, 
when  personal  labour  can  procure  something  good. 
We  are  all  on  our  honour  to  help  her  to  achieve  suc- 
cess. Her  plans  never  fail.  Besides,  we  were  fortu- 
nate in  getting  Mr.  Leslie's  support." 

"  Mr.  Leslie  used  to  help  us  often  in  New  Zealand 
with  our  childish  charades  ;  I  know  he  can  act  well," 
said  Griselda  simply,  and  she  hid  a  smile  of  happiness 
in  a  half-blown  rose.  The  utterly  natural  manner  of 
the  white  Undine  reassured  Magdalen. 

"  You  are  young  enough  to  enjoy  everything,"  said 
the  elder  woman  with  a  faint  sigh.  "  Once  I  could  do 
the  same.  Well,  we  have  enough  bouquets,  I  think, 
but  this  rose  is  a  dream  of  perfect  beauty.  Ah  !  I  see 
where  it  should  live — and  die." 

She  walked  across  the  room  and  pinned  the  flower 
on  Griselda's  dress,  where  already  a  much  less  beauti- 
ful blossom  was  reposing.  "  Let  me  change  this ;  with 
your  white  dress  and  your  fair  hair  you  will  be  like  a 
moonbeam.  Shall  you  be  sitting  with  Mrs.  Hope  ?  I 
shall  look  out  for  you." 

Griselda  was  young,  enthusiastic,  simple,  loving, 
and  spontaneous.  She  shyly  kissed  the  hand  that  had 
pinned  in  the  rose. 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


173 


"  Thank  you,  how  kind,  and — how  beautiful  you 
are !  "  she  said,  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart. 

Magdalen  laughed  softly.  There  was  no  bitterness 
in  her  laugh  this  time  ;  she  was  happy,  consciously 
happy,  she  knew  why,  and  yet  would  not  acknowledge 
it ;  some  of  her  beautiful  far-off  youth  seemed  to  have 
come  back  to  her  and  once  more  whispered  the  word 
happiness  in  her  ear.  Was  it  a  St.  Luke's  summer  in 
her  life  ?  a  mirage  in  the  desert  ?  No,  not  a  mirage — 
a  wonderful  reality;  it  was  close  to  her,  she  felt  that  her 
hand  could  grasp  it — the  hand  that  Brice  had  touched. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  must  go  now,"  she  said  softly, 
and  kissed  the  peach-like  cheek  of  Griselda  Foy ; 
"you  are  young,  that  in  itself  is  worth  any  beauty. 
If  you  find  happiness,  keep  it,  don't  let  it  go — if  you 
can  help  it.  Do  you  read  Shelley  ?  No  ?  He  says, 
that  '  joy  once  lost  is  pain.'  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  nothing  but  happiness,"  said 
Griselda,  and  there  were  tears  in  her  blue  eyes. 
"  Happiness  is — oh,  isn't  it  beautiful  !  " 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Hope  knocked  at  the  door 
and  claimed  Griselda. 

"  Come,  Griselda,  everyone  is  arriving,  and  you 
ought  to  lose  nothing  of  the  sight." 

Miss  Cuthbert  was  already  gone  before  Griselda 
could  look  round  for  her,  and,  still  smiling  with 
pleasure  at  the  remembrance  of  her,  she  followed  the 
Rector  into  the  gardens. 

The   entrance   gates    once    passed,   the   company 


174 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


walked  through  a  hedge  of  roses  illuminated  with  gar- 
lands of  electric  lights,  also  hung  in  fantastic  festoons 
all  about  a  large  pavilion,  where  their  wraps  were 
taken  from  them.  Soft  music  was  heard  in  the  near 
distance  when  the  guests  again  stepped  out  upon  the 
lawns  to  be  enchanted  by  art  hidden  in  multitudinous 
ways.  On  one  side  were  seats  where  roses  appeared 
to  twine  themselves  naturally,  and  round  which  lights 
were  twinkling  in  coloured  pear-like  globes.  Some  of 
the  avenues  were  partly  lighted,  partly  in  gloom,  so 
that  from  shade  you  walked  into  a  sudden  blaze  of 
flowers  and  lights.  Rich  carpets  were  spread  in  shel- 
tered nooks  side  by  side  with  heather  banks,  near 
which  were  placed  rustic  tables,  whereon  choice  wines 
and  fairy-like  cakes  were  arrayed  ready  for  the  guests 
to  partake  of  when  it  suited  their  fancy,  no  attendants 
being  by.  Next  the  wondering  guests  discovered  a 
concert  was  going  on  unannounced,  performed  for  the 
sake  of  the  music  itself  and  apparently  only  for  such 
guests  as  loved  sweet  sounds;  and,  further  on,  a  mimic 
fairy  dance  of  children,  children  who  were  apparently 
enjoying  themselves  and  not  exhibiting.  Everything 
had  been  done  to  delight  the  sense  of  the  unexpected, 
and  the  guests  at  once  responded  to  the  call  made  on 
their  imaginative  faculties,  and  were  ready  to  be  de 
lighted. 

"We  thought  that  Lady  Mary  would  fail  in  the 
country,"  said  the  Duke,  "  but  the  verdict  must  be  that 
she  has  excelled  herself." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


175 


On  the  lawn  near  the  house  the  hostess  held  her 
court.  Frank  went  here  and  there  collecting  his  wife's 
praises.  He  was  simple,  hearty,  pleasant,  always  him- 
self, but  Lady  Mary  was  of  course  the  chief  attraction. 
She  had  a  part  to  play  as  well  as  the  actors,  and  she 
did  not  mean  to  fail  in  it.  Instead  of  remaining  in  one 
place  to  become  a  hand-shaking  machine,  she  went 
about  among  the  various  groups.  She  introduced 
friends  to  each  other's  notice,  reminded  the  Duke  that 
he  knew  the  Colonel,  or  the  Rear- Admiral  who  crossed 
his  path ;  she  thought  that  Lady  Dash  must  have  met 
Lord  Groves  at  the  Inner  Temple  ball.  "  Here  is  Mr. 
Harcourt,  the  leading  spirit  of  that  ball — for  the  wicked 
barristers  were  lavish  of  money,  so  that  if  poorer  in 
coin  they  were  rich  in  friends.  It  was  certainly  a  good 
example.  Your  money  can  be  taken  from  yow,  but 
your  friends — " 

"  Your  friends,  Lady  Mary,"  said  the  Duke,  bowing, 
"  would  remain  true  to  you." 

"  Or  retire  gracefully. 

"You  think  ill  of  us,"  said  Colonel  Karstairs  ;  "  I 
cannot  agree  with  you."  Lady  Mary  lightly  placed 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  to  walk  with  him  towards  a  mossy 
bower  close  at  hand. 

"  To  judge  by  appearances  I  should  believe  in  your 
steadfastness,"  she  said,  smiling;  "but,  don't  protest, 
your  constancy  is  useless.  I  know  you  are  looking  out 
for  Miss  Cuthbert!  " 

"  I  thought  The  Magdalen  was  sure  to  be  here — 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

nothing  more,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  Colonel,  looking 
round  with  an  earnest  expression  on  his  face  in  spite  of 
his  bantering  tone,  and  then  he  added — 

"  By  the  way,  the  other  day  Horton  was  recalling 
your  confident  prophecy — I  will  not  call  it  a  wager." 

"  Hush !  it  shocks  Frank  ;  still,  if  it  had  been  pos- 
sible, my  dear  Colonel,  I  would  have  abetted  your  suit, 
but  what  can  I  do  ?  it  is  only  the  unexpected  that 
pleases.  You  town  gallants  are  too  conventional  in 
your  courting;  you  do  not  fully  understand  that  it  is 
more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive." 

The  Colonel  shrugged  his  shoulders — 

"  We  like  obstacles,  but  not  too  many !  After  a 
time  we  begin  to  doubt  whether  the  game  is  worth  the 
hunting." 

"  Fie  !  on  the  contrary,  she  is  superlative." 

"  Superlatively  happy  in  possessing  you  as  a  friend. 
On  my  honour  you  have  outwitted  nature,  Lady  Mary ; 
I  shall  go  home  and  write  sonnets  on  the  superiority 
of  art  over  nature." 

"  Then  pray  don't  mention  the  electric  light.  Frank 
is  afraid  of  admiring  it,  because  some  of  our  great 
artists — Tongham  among  them — have  sniffed  at  it ;  but 
Soames,  you  know  the  man  who  paints  pretty  women 
and  makes  them  hideous  on  principle,  says,  '  Art  must 
bend  to  our  will.'  True  art  repudiates  nature.  After 
that,  I  assure  you  I  breathed  more  freely  and  gloried 
openly  in  electric  light.  It  all  depends  on  your  mental 
focus." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  177 

"  You  need  not  fear.  This  is  a  triumph.  By  the 
way,  is  the  choice  fruit  here  ? "  Lady  Mary  pretended 
to  misunderstand  him. 

"Yes,  under  the  beeches;  go  and  help  the  ladies,  I 
have  done  away  with  waiters.  As  to  triumph,  wait  till 
you  see  my  play." 

The  Duke  came  up  again. 

"  Lady  Mary,  there  is  a  young  lady  whom  the  men 
are  all  raving  about.  She  is  dressed  in  white,  and  hair 
a  Voriole — isn't  that  the  right  phrase  ?  She  certainly  has 
been  till  now  well  concealed,  for  no  one  knows  her." 

"Ah,  my  New  Zealander!  Yes,  a  denizen  of  an- 
other world,  too  good  for  ours." 

"  And  her  name — Queen  Mab,  in  person  ? " 

"  Miss  Foy,  of  Foy  Lodge.  Alas,  no  princely  for- 
tune to  be  expected  from  her,  Duke.  Her  face  is  her 
fortune." 

"  In  my  young  days  we  thought  that  princely,  but 
times  are  changed." 

"  American  heiresses  have  ruined  the  beauty  mar- 
ket. The  balance  at  the  banker — " 

"  Strikes  the  balance  at  the  heart." 

"  If  you  will  honour  my  poor  fete  with  bon-mots,  I 
shall  introduce  you  to  a  real  heiress ;  Miss  Betham 
might — " 

The  Duke  laughed  and  retired.  It  was  known  he 
wanted  money  for  his  eldest  son,  and  Lord  Colefoot 
had  been  given  to  understand  that  he  must  fall  in  love 
with  a  money-bag. 


178  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

Why  chronicle  more  of  the  light  banter  ?  Lady 
Mary  made  wit  sparkle ;  she  called  forth  praise  from 
those  who  possessed  originality ;  and  evidently  re- 
ceived a  blessing  from  the  evening  air,  that  so  softly 
played  among  the  folds  of  the  beautiful  dresses,  and 
kissed  the  wavy  curls  of  youth,  not  forgetting  to 
stroke  the  grey  hair  of  old  age. 

Suddenly  a  sound  of  Indian  gongs  was  heard  and 
bells  chimed  a  melody.  Everyone  knew  the  moment 
had  come  when  the  players  were  to  amuse  the  com- 
pany, but  every  guest  was  already  so  well  pleased  that 
even  indifferent  actors  would  have  been  applauded  by 
them,  always  excepting,  of  course,  the  mighty  Acton 
Roland,  who  had  been  taking  mental  notes  and  was 
secretly  sorry  that  Lady  Mary  did  not  own  a  theatre 
and  could  not  become  Mrs.  Roland ;  "  because," 
thought  he,  "  in  that  line  the  woman  is  inspired.  She 
is  a  great  loss  to  the  profession." 

A  portion  of  the  grounds,  before  invisible,  was  now 
suddenly  illuminated,  and,  without  needing  to  be  told, 
the  guests  walked  on  down  a  shrub-bordered  path, 
brilliantly  lighted  ;  then,  emerging  upon  a  large  open 
space,  they  beheld  an  amphitheatre  of  seats  carpeted 
with  green  cloth  and  adorned  with  roses,  whilst  along 
the  sides  were  roses  arched  over  uncovered  seats  for 
those  who  preferred  the  night  air.  Opposite  was  the 
stage  festooned  with  electric  lights;  such  a  blaze  of 
light  and  flowers  seemed  fashioned  for  fairyland  alone. 

The  murmur  of  applause  was  not  faint,  for  even 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  j  79 

this  company  (for  the  most  part  blast*}  was  fasci- 
nated. 

There  was  no  crowding;  everyone  appeared  to 
have  a  special  seat  reserved  for  them,  and  the  men 
did  not  on  this  occasion  prefer  to  remain  standing 
outside. 

Griselda,  seated  near  Mrs.  Hope,  found  several 
attentive  men  in  her  neighbourhood,  for  this  fresh 
apparition  was  attracting  unusual  admiration.  The 
smile  that  was  so  real,  the  manners  that  were  so  natu- 
ral, were  not  such  as  could  be  found  every  day  in 
London  society ;  for  one  season  often  gives  a  simper 
to  a  belle,  and  affectation  to  a  country  beauty  who 
little  guesses  that  her  airs  and  graces  afford  amuse- 
ment to  the  men  who  collect  to  gossip  at  their  club. 

When  the  curtain  rose,  Griselda  had  only  eyes  and 
ears  for  the  play  ;  with  her  arms  folded,  she  leaned 
a  little  forward  and  drank  in  every  word,  noticed 
every  gesture.  Was  not  her  Brice  there  ?  and  the 
beautiful  Miss  Cuthbert,  whom  she  so  much  admired  ? 
What  mattered  a  duke's  son,  or  a  young  guardsman 
to  her — what,  indeed  ? 

Mr.  Acton  Roland  was  just  behind  her,  and,  once 
or  twice  hearing  his  remarks,  Griselda  turned  round 
and  smiled  her  assent ;  she  really  smiled  at  Lady 
Mary,  who  was  all  smiles,  but  Mr.  Roland  joined  in 
and  condescended  to  agree  with  her. 

"  By  Jove,"  said  Lord  Colefoot  afterwards,  "  I  sat 
near  Miss  Foy,  the  girl  who  will  make  a  sensation 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 

next  season — a  New  Zealander ;  but  she  didn't  know 
how  to  flirt,  and  one  could  enjoy  her  remarks.  If  she 
had  money — but  they  say  she  is  poor ;  anyhow,  she  is 
not  jealous  of  other  women  ;  she  did  nothing  but  praise 
the  only  rival  that  could  come  near  to  her ;  Miss 
Cuthbert,  well — yes,  she  carried  everything  before  her 
that  evening.  She  knows  the  arts  and  sciences  of 
making  a  sensation." 

As  for  the  play — this  was  the  plot  of  it. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE  curtain  drew  up  and  displayed  a  severe-look- 
ing library,  where  Sir  Anthony  Croft  was  seated  in  his 
arm-chair,  engaged  in  a  serious  conversation  with  his 
son  and  heir,  young  Marmaduke. 

Griselda  laughed  softly  as  she  noticed  how  hand- 
some and  young-looking  Brice  appeared,  in  a  new  suit 
of  very  fashionably-cut  garments. 

Sir  Anthony  was  extremely  comic  in  his  declama- 
tion, and  in  the  way  he  took  all  Marmaduke's  silence 
for  consent.  He  solemnly  expressed  his  thankfulness 
that  his  heir  was  not  like  some  eldest  sons,  whose  sad 
stories  often  gave  shocking  interest  to  the  news- 
papers. All  this  part  was  very  briskly  acted,  and  the 
audience  at  once  caught  the  cue,  when  the  baronet 
said,  sententiously,  "But you,  Marmaduke,  you  cannot 
tell  a  spade  from  a  club ;  for  everyone  knows  that  not 
one  pack  of  cards  could  be  found  here,  even  if  the 
Manor  were  ransacked  from  top  to  toe,  not  one." 
Marmaduke's  slight  smile,  and  deprecating  glance  as 
he  answered,  "  I  am  sure  of  that,  sir,"  made  every  one 
laugh  heartily.  At  the  end  of  the  interview,  Marma- 
duke asks  his  father's  consent  to  leave  home  on 


1 82  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

urgent  business  connected  with — here  a  pause  and 
great  hesitation — literary  employment.  Sir  Anthony 
appears  charmed  with  the  idea  of  his  son's  future 
fame  as  an  author,  but  begs  him  to  return  as  soon  as 
possible.  Sir  Anthony's  exit  is  followed  by  the  arrival 
of  Marmaduke's  friend  and  neighbour  in  the  county, 
Hector  Sandley.  Their  conversation  discloses  that 
Marmaduke  is  so  deeply  in  debt,  led  on  by  Sandley, 
that  he  does  not  know  where  to  turn  for  money,  and, 
of  course,  dares  not  appeal  to  his  father's  mercy. 
"  He  has  no  mercy  for  gambling,"  the  unfortunate 
young  man  repeats;  "  and  if  Mr.  Bruce,  our  new 
family  lawyer,  cannot  help  me,  I  had  better  leave  the 
country  at  once,  before  my  father  announces  that  he 
cuts  me  off  with  a  shilling.  If  I  can  get  out  of  this 
scrape,  I  swear  it  shall  be  my  last."  Hector  laughs 
at  his  distress,  wishes  him  good  luck,  and  promises  to 
look  him  up  when  he  next  goes  to  town ;  whereupon 
Marmaduke,  in  his  despair,  tells  him  some  plain  truths 
about  his  evil  influence,  and  they  separate  in  anger. 

The  curtain  here  fell  merely  for  a  few  minutes. 
How  the  whole  scene  was  shifted  so  quickly  was  a 
secret  which  puzzled  even  Acton  Roland.  It  was 
wonderful  for  amateurs,  he  thought.  This  time  the 
company  gazed  at  an  exquisite  bijou  drawing-room, 
where  a  pretty  blonde  was  arranging  flowers,  and 
talking  to  herself  in  a  way  probably  only  indulged  in 
on  the  stage,  where  this  unnatural  habit  plays  the 
part  of  the  old  Greek  chorus. 


A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY.  ^3 

Meta  Bruce,  the  lawyer's  daughter,  discusses  the 
advantage  of  matrimony,  and  the  delights  of  her 
friendship  with  the  newly-arrived  inmate  of  their 
house,  Esther  Singleton,  who,  being  an  independent 
heiress,  has  found  a  temporary  home  with  the  Bruces. 
Meta  is  young,  confiding,  and  kitten-like;  and  the 
contrast  to  Esther,  the  heiress,  was  at  once  apparent 
when  Miss  Cuthbert,  in  that  character,  stepped  on  the 
stage.  There  was  a  murmur  of  applause  from  the 
ladies,  and  a  vigorous  clapping  from  the  men,  for 
Magdalen  was  perfectly  and  most  becomingly  dressed, 
and  acted  admirably.  You  saw  at  once  that  she  was 
made  of  sterner  stuff,  and  was  of  a  more  determined 
character  than  the  artless  Meta. 

"  Isn't  she  perfectly  beautiful  ? "  Griselda  mur- 
mured to  Mrs.  Hope ;  but  this  lady  had  already  heard 
of  Magdalen's  fame,  and  answered  severely,  "  Yes,  a 
handsome  woman,  but  very  fast  and  worldly,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  No,  that  must  be  a  mistake,  I  am  sure  it  is," 
said  Griselda  warmly;  "  look,  here  comes  Mr.  Leslie; 
doesn't  he  exactly  look  his  part  ?" 

Marmaduke  is  introduced  into  the  charmed  circle 
of  the  lawyer's  drawing-room,  and  his  eyes  at  once 
rest  on  Meta,  who  comes  forward,  explains  that  her 
father  is  out,  but  begs  him  to  wait  for  him.  Esther 
has  stayed  in  the  background,  and  by  the  time  she 
comes  forward  Marmaduke  has  already  fallen  under 
the  spell  of  Meta.  Mr.  Bruce's  return  disturbs  the 


1 84  A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 

trio,  the  girls  retire,  and  Marmaduke  explains  his 
situation.  He  frankly  confesses  his  sins,  his  utter 
inability  to  satisfy  his  creditors — chiefly  a  certain  Jew, 
Joseph  Levy — and  owns  that  unless  he  can  procure 
five  thousand  pounds  in  a  week,  he  will  not  be  able  to 
prevent  the  Jew  from  appealing  to  his  father.  "  And 
that,  sir,  will,  I  verily  believe,  kill  the  old  man,  who 
believes  me  as  innocent  as  a  baby  in  arms." 

Mr.  Bruce  considers  how  he  can  help  this  young 
fellow,  to  whom  he  takes  an  immediate  fancy,  without 
plunging  him  deeper  into  debt;  and,  to  make  sure 
that  he  will  be  out  of  harm's  way,  invites  him  to  stay 
at  his  country-house  till  he  finds  a  way  out  of  the 
difficulty. 

During  the  week  Marmaduke  makes  himself  so 
much  at  home,  and  so  happy  with  the  two  ladies,  that 
he  believes  himself  a  reformed,  character.  He  is  so 
attentive  himself  with  Meta  and  Esther  that  he  hardly 
knows  which  he  prefers,  and  pays  them  both  great 
attention.  During  the  week  Mr.  Bruce  tells  Esther 
how  the  case  stands,  and  she  immediately  forms  the 
design  of  freeing  the  charming  Marmaduke  from  the 
clutches  of  the  Jew ;  but  binds  Mr.  Bruce  to  secrecy, 
as  she  hands  him  a  cheque  of  five  thousand  pounds, 
which  at  last  Mr.  Bruce  unwillingly  gives  to  Marma- 
duke. This  latter  naturally  believes  Mr.  Bruce  is  the 
real  donor,  and  forms  at  once  the  plan  of  proposing  to 
his  daughter,  as  the  best  way  he  can  imagine  of  repay- 
ing the  debt  of  gratitude ;  besides,  when  he  begins  to 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  185 

think  of  it,  Marmaduke  finds  he  is  really  in  love  with 
the  charming  Meta. 

The  love  scene  which  followed  was  very  prettily 
worked  up.  Marmaduke,  in  a  frank,  natural  manner, 
making  his  confession  how  he  had  formed  the  idea  of 
marrying  Meta  from  gratitude,  but  that  now  he  truly 
loves  her.  Meta  is  at  once  carried  away  by  the  young 
man's  words,  and  thinks  him  the  most  noble,  the  most 
generous  of  lovers;  but  Marmaduke  at  the  end  im- 
poses one  condition  upon  her.  In  his  present  position 
they  must  keep  their  engagement  a  secret  till  he  is 
entirely  free  of  debt ;  as  Mr.  Bruce  might,  under  the 
circumstance,  make  some  objections;  but  that,  when 
he  can  again  hold  up  his  head,  he  will  at  once  speak 
to  her  father  and  to  his.  Meta,  knowing  nothing  of 
Esther's  generosity,  or  the  feeling  which  has  called  it 
forth,  willingly  agrees  to  the  condition.  In  another 
scene,  Marmaduke,  to  avoid  detection,  pays  Esther 
more  attention  than  he  does  to  Meta,  and  the  former 
allows  herself  to  believe  in  him,  and  glories  in  the  idea 
that  her  generosity  has  saved  him. 

The  day  before  Marmaduke  is  going  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Bruce,  his  tempter,  Hector,  turns  up.  Marmaduke 
tells  him  he  has  paid  his  debts,  that  he  has  turned 
over  a  new  leaf,  and  that  he  is  on  the  eve  of  propos- 
ing to  the  sweetest  angel  on  earth.  Hector,  with 
ingenious  and  devilish  cleverness,  turns  him  round, 
and  they  go  out  together — the  spectators  easily  guess- 
ing the  result. 


!86  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

The  next  scene  represents  Esther  sitting  alone  at 
an  open  window.  Meta  and  her  father  have  gone  out 
to  a  dinner  party.  Esther  hears  a  noise  and  recog- 
nises Marmaduke's  footstep  ;  she  is  much  agitated, 
but  she  has  a  smile  of  pleasure  on  her  face.  In  a  few 
moments  the  young  man  rushes  in,  looking  utterly 
crushed  and  wretched.  Esther  is  frightened,  but  in- 
tensely sympathetic,  and  her  sympathy  causes  Marma- 
duke  to  confess  he  has  lost  a  large  sum  of  money  at 
gambling,  that  he  is  utterly  undone,  for  his  father  has 
heard  of  it,  and  that  he  believes  he  is  following  him 
and  may  appear  at  any  moment. 

Esther  goes  hastily  to  the  writing-table  and  writes 
a  cheque  for  the  amount.  In  spite  of  the  large  sum, 
she  signs  her  name  with  a  smile  on  her  lips.  Then 
she  comes  towards  Marmaduke,  for  he  has  sunk  down 
in  a  chair,  and  has  buried  his  head  in  his  arms.  She 
gently  touches  his  shoulder,  with  a  look  of  intense 
love  and  happiness  on  her  face,  as  she  holds  out  the 
cheque  to  him.  Marmaduke  starts  up,  looks  at  her 
face,  then  at  the  cheque,  and  is  speechless.  She  says 
softly — 

"  You  have  guessed  the  truth." 

"  What  truth  ? " 

"  That  unlimited  credit  is  only  the  privilege  of  true 
affection." 

She  hands  him  the  cheque.  He  draws  back  and 
mutters,  "  Impossible,"  and  Esther  answers — 

"Take  it,  it  is  possible.     I  know  your  generous 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


I87 


nature;  if  you  are  weak,  you  are  incapable  of  mean- 
ness, and  I  am  determined  to  save  you." 

A  noise  is  heard,  and  the  servant  announces  that 
Mr.  Joseph  Levy  desires  to  speak  with  Mr.  Marma- 
duke  Croft,  at  the  same  time  he  hands  him  a  telegram 
from  Sir  Anthony,  which  he  tears  open  and  reads,  "  I 
know  all,  and  will  come  by  next  train." 

When  the  door  is  shut,  Esther  comes  towards  him 
again  and  again  puts  the  cheque  in  his  hand.  "  Go," 
she  says,  "get  rid  of  that  vile  Jew,  and,  when  he 
comes,  let  your  father  find  you  a  free  man." 

Marmaduke  again  hesitates,  touches  the  cheque, 
and  staggers. 

"  My  father  ! — he  believed  in  me,  it  will  kill  him  ; 
but  I  cannot — you  do  not  know — you  will  never  for- 
give." 

"Forgive?"  then  in  a  very  low  tone  she  adds, 
"  Love  forgives  everything." 

"  Love — I  love  too  much  to — "  He  passes  his 
hands  over  his  eyes,  hardly  knowing  what  he  says. 
Esther  mistakes  his  words,  and  comes  back  hastily, 
and  passionately  throws  her  arms  round  him. 

Levy's  voice  is  heard  ;  there  is  a  knock  at  the  door, 
and  Esther  starts  back  repeating — 

"  Go,  go,  give  it  to  him  at  once,  for  your  father's 
sake  and  for  mine." 

Marmaduke  snatches  the  paper,  and  as  the  Jew 
enters  thrusts  it  into  his  hands.  The  Jew  stares  in 
amazement,  then  slowly  sits  down  to  write  the  receipt. 


j88  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

As  the  Jew  goes  out,  Sir  Anthony  hastens  in,  pale 
and  furious.  Marmaduke  stands  conscience-stricken 
before  him,  without  uttering  a  word.  As  Sir  Anthony 
pours  forth  a  flood  of  reproaches,  Esther  returns,  looks 
round  with  a  proud  smile  on  her  face,  and  goes  up  to 
the  old  man. 

"  Forgive  him,"  she  says ;  then  she  walks  across  to 
Marmaduke's  side  and  slips  her  hand  through  his  arm. 
"  Forgive  him,  and  forget ;  he  is  free  of  debt — all  is 
paid.  It  is  the  last  time  this  shall  happen.'1 

Sir  Anthony,  astonished,  asks  for  an  explanation, 
and  Marmaduke  says  huskily — 

"  Yes,  here  is  the  woman  who  has  saved  me,  saved 
us  from  disgrace.  I  owe  her  everything,  everything  I 
have, — even  my  name,  if  she  will  take  it." 

The  door  opens,  and  Meta  and  her  father  return 
from  the  party. 

Meta  is  charmingly  dressed,  and  looks  bewitch- 
ingly  happy.  She  has  heard  of  Sir  Anthony's  arrival, 
and  believes  the  happy  moment  has  come  when  Mar- 
maduke will  openly  declare  his  love. 

On  entering,  however,  she  sees  Esther  blushingly 
withdrawing  her  arm  from  Marmaduke's,  but,  thinking 
only  of  her  lover's  approaching  confession,  she  goes 
towards  him,  saying,  "  You  have  come  back  to-day  ;  I 
knew  you  would,  I  felt  sure  of  it."  Marmaduke  draws 
back  from  her,  and  Meta,  pausing,  astonished,  looks 
from  him  to  the  radiant  Esther. 

"  Wish  me  joy,  Meta,"  this  latter  says,  "  Marma- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


189 


duke  is  safe  now  for  ever  ;  together  we  will,  God 
helping  us,  forget  the  past.  Sir  Anthony  forgives 
everything." 

Mr.  Bruce  and  Sir  Anthony  walk  away  towards  the 
window,  and  Meta,  turning  pale  and  clinging  to  a  chair, 
looks  at  her  lover  and  sees  only  intense  sorrow  and 
shame  on  his  face.  She  guesses  the  truth,  and  with  a 
great  effort  she  walks  slowly  up  to  Esther,  and,  hiding 
her  face  on  her  shoulder,  says,  half  sobbing,  half 
laughing,  in  a  strange  manner,  "  I  do,  I  do  wish  you 
joy." 

Sir  Anthony,  again  coming  forward,  begs  Esther  to 
come  with  him  and  Mr.  Bruce,  and  explains  to  them 
all  her  wonderful  generosity. 

Marmaduke  and  Meta  are  left  alone,  and  a  scene 
between  them  begins  by  a  few  moments  of  intense  si- 
lence ;  he  sits  down,  and  gradually  hides  his  face  on 
his  arms,  and  she  very  slowly  comes  towards  him  and 
calls  him  by  his  name.  When  she  is  close  to  him, 
Marmaduke  answers,  heart-broken,  "  Leave  me." 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot,"  she  says  passionately,  "  we 
have  loved  each  other,  we  do  still,  or  is  it  all  a  dream  ? 
No,  no,  it  cannot  be — I  see  it  all ;  Esther  has  been  so 
noble,  so  generous;  you  thought  to — "  Marmaduke 
shakes  his  head. 

"  It  was  not  that,"  he  begins,  then  pauses;  he  can- 
not betray  another  woman  or  explain  how  she  has 
misunderstood  him,  or  how  he  has  allowed  her  to  clear 
him,  and  save  his  father's  name  from  being  dragged 


190 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


before  the  public.  He  suddenly  kneels  down  and 
kisses  the  hem  of  Meta's  dress — he  dare  not  do  more — 
and  she,  slowly  stooping,  picks  up  her  train  and  gather- 
ing it  about  her  walks  slowly  back,  as  if  she  were 
afraid  of  being  too  near  to  the  man  she  idolises. 
Marmaduke  gets  up  and  watches  her  retreating  figure, 
makes  a  step  or  two  forward  and  then  sinks  down  on 
a  high  carved  oak  settee,  his  face  expressing  mute 
agony.  When  he  hears  Meta  step  on  the  pavement 
(she. had  gone  through  a  side  French  window  into  a 
conservatory),  he  starts  up  with  a  cry,  runs  forward 
and  folds  Meta  in  his  arms,  but  again  she  releases  her- 
self and  pushes  him  gently  back  to  the  settee,  saying — 

"  Good-bye,  Marmaduke,  God  bless  you."  Then 
she  disappears. 

When  Esther  re-enters,  she  finds  Marmaduke  still 
sitting  on  the  settee,  stupefied  and  dazed  by  what  he 
has  gone  through;  misunderstanding  the  reason,  she 
comes  and  kneels  down  before  him  and  takes  his  hands 
in  hers. 

"Marmaduke,"  she  says,  "all  is  forgiven;  take 
courage,  the  future  is  grand  and  beautiful ;  we  will  do 
everything  together ;  your  father  will  let  us  have  the 
Tower  House ;  and  we  shall  be — oh,  so  happy !  We 
will  look  after  the  cottages  and  learn  all  the  new  im- 
provements. My  money — our  money,  I  mean — will 
be  useful,  and  we  shall  only  come  to  town  when  we 
are  tired  of  each  other,  Marmaduke — that  will  be  very, 
very  seldom,  my  dearest ;  do  not  be  sad  any  longer. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  ig! 

I  do  not  regret  anything;  indeed,  indeed,  it  is  true; 
and  some  day  we  shall  be  able  to — why,  almost  to 
laugh  at  this  trouble,  and  your  father  will  forget  that 
he  ever  found  you  less  perfect  than  he  once  believed 
you  to  be.  You  are  perfect  for  me;  I  do  not  wish 
you  other  than  you  are.  Marmaduke,  look  at  me; 
together,  together,  we  can  conquer  everything — by 
love ! " 

Marmaduke  rises  from  his  seat  and  takes  Esther's 
hand  in  his.  Then  suddenly  he  laughs.  "  Esther, 
you  are  good  and  noble  and  generous — you  can  do 
everything,  I  believe,  everything;  but — good  God! 
can  you  mend  a  broken  heart?" 

The  audience  waited  almost  breathlessly  for  Es- 
ther's answer,  but  there  was  none ;  they  only  saw  a 
strange  expression  pass  over  her  face,  a  startled,  horri- 
fied look  in  her  eyes,  and  then  the  curtain  fell.  The 
play  was  ended. 

There  was  a  sudden  pause,  then  a  loud  clapping 
and  a  call  for  the  actors;  but  Lady  Mary,  standing 
up,  shook  her  head. 

"  It  is  useless  to  call  for  them  ;  our  author  does  not 
allow  it.  Those  returning  scenes  are  barbarous,  and 
against  all  rules  of  idealism,  for  they  destroy  every 
illusion.  Now,  Mr.  Roland,  your  opinion  is  the  real 
applause;  our  young  playwright  is  dying  to  know  it." 
.  Acton  Roland  was  too  cunning  to  be  taken  in,  but 
the  interview  with  Oliver  took  place,  as  already  re- 
13 


I92  A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY. 

corded,  and  Lady  Mary  was  satisfied.  Even  the  Duke, 
a  fine  connoisseur  in  plays,  from  frequent  experience, 
came  to  shake  hands  with  the  author,  who  did  not 
know  whether  to  be  flattered  or  whether  to  be  on  the 
defensive.  He  possessed  a  sensitive  character,  but  a 
fine  literary  judgment. 

"We  must  really  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Selby — a 
capital  play.  Are  you  satisfied  yourself  ?  Upon  my 
word,  the  acting  must  have  pleased  even  Mr.  Roland." 

"Yes,  the  acting  left  nothing  to  be  desired,"  said 
Mr.  Selby ;  "  as  to  the  play,  I  am  glad  your  Grace  was 
pleased." 

"  Uncommonly  so,  but — well,  not  quite  sure  as  to 
the  end,  you  know.  You  stopped  short — hem,  a  little 
too  short;  we  wanted  more  of  a  good  thing." 

"  Your  Grace  has  been  to  too  many  plays :  I  merely 
wished  to  call  forth  just  the  feeling  you  mention." 

"  Ah,  in  that  case — "  the  Duke  paused.  "  I  see 
you  are  in  league  with  our  hostess ;  she  prefers  whet- 
ting our  appetites  to  satisfying  our  desires." 

"  Just  so ;  the  incomplete  has  a  merit  hardly 
enough  recognized." 

"  Except  in  respect  of  supper,"  said  Lady  Mary, 
taking  the  Duke's  arm.  "  Come  to  the  tent,  and  there 
we  shall  meet  our  actors.  I  hope  each  gentleman  will 
choose  the  partner  he  prefers,  for  to-night  at  least  we 
waive  the  commonplaces  of  etiquette." 

Griselda  sat  a  few  moments  in  her  place  without 
moving ;  she  was  so  much  carried  away  by  the  play 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  193 

that  she  heaved  a  little  sigh  when  Mr.  Hope  touched 
her.  Something  of  her  innocent  belief  in  life's  happi- 
ness seemed  to  have  been  taken  from  her. 

"  Griselda,  here  is  Lord  Colefoot,  who  begs  to  be 
introduced  to  you  and  to  take  you  down  to  supper." 

Griselda  was  gracious  at  once,  but  she  was  not 
elated.  Her  heart  was  not  in  this  grand  society ;  she 
wanted  Brice — her  Brice ;  and  all  the  time  the  young 
lord  talked  on  of  the  "  awfully  jolly  play,"  a  vision  of 
the  far  away  New  Zealand  farm  came  floating  before 
her  mind's  eye. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

BEHIND  the  scenes,  when  the  curtain  was  lowered 
for  the  last  time,  Magdalen  Cuthbert  and  Brice  Leslie 
remained  standing,  not  in  the  attitude  imposed  upon 
them  by  the  play,  but  quite  naturally,  as  if  they  had 
just  finished  a  conversation.  Brice  was  conscious  that 
Miss  Cuthbert  had  acted  extremely  well ;  Magdalen 
was  quickly  reviewing  her  own  efforts,  and  she  was 
satisfied  with  herself,  for  she  knew  that  her  ideal  was 
high  and  not  easily  attained.  She  it  was  who  first 
broke  the  silence. 

"  We  have  not  disappointed  Lady  Mary." 

Brice  was  sorry  to  return  to  the  commonplace,  but 
he  was  helped  thereto  by  the  appearance  of  the  rest 
of  the  company  and  the  hum  of  general  conversation. 
These  were  some  of  the  remarks  he  heard — 

"  First-rate."  "  Capital."  "  Miss  Cuthbert,  you 
were  perfect."  "  Not  a  bad  play,  but  the  end  !  " 

"  I  say,"  remarked  Captain  Standring,  who  had 
acted  Sir  Anthony,  "  I'm  blessed  if  I  know  which  girl 
he  did  marry — " 

"  You  know  nothing  of  modern  art,  Captain  Stan- 
dring. We  deal  only  with  uncertainties.  Those  happy- 
ever-after  pieces  are  out  of  date." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  195 

Miss  Linden,  alias  "  Meta,"  came  smiling  back 
upon  the  stage  ;  she  had  learnt  every  movement  of 
her  part,  and  had  felt  none  of  it ;  as  Lady  Mary  had 
said,  she  was  a  curious  but  not  an  uncommon  example 
of  a  being  endowed  with  the  receptive  and  dramatic 
faculty  without  any  deeper  motive  power.  She  was  a 
perfect  mirror,  but  there  was  only  common  wood  be- 
hind the  reflection. 

Magdalen  did  not  care  to  show  that  she  had  felt 
her  part  only  too  deeply. 

"  I  am  going  to  dress,"  she  said  to  Brice  ;  "  will 
you  take  me  to  the  house  by  the  unilluminated  shrub- 
bery?" 

Brice  was  of  course  ready  to  act  as  her  escort. 

"  Why  do  you  take  the  trouble  to  change  your 
dress  ? "  he  said,  as  he  walked  slowly  by  her  side. 
The  quiet  and  silence  of  the  small  path  they  were 
in  was  delicious  after  the  excitement  of  the  play. 
It  was  all  the  more  charming  that  they  could  hear  the 
sound  of  the  distant  hubbub. 

"  I  want  the  play  to  remain  in  the  region  of  the 
ideal,"  she  said. 

"  If  one  could  command  some  moments  of  one's 
life  not  to  disappear  into  eternity." 

"If  that  were  possible,"  asked  Magdalen,  laughing 
a  little,  though  Brice  caught  a  sweeter  tone  than 
usual  in  her  voice,  "  which  moment  would  you  re- 
call ?" 

"  The  time  just  passed — on  the  stage." 


196  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  What !  You  would  be  ready  to  act  all  the  rest 
of  your  life  ?  A  tragedy,  too  ! " 

Magdalen  was  drawing  him  on,  but  she  loved  him 
for  being  drawn  on ;  yet,  though  she  wanted  to  hear 
his  remarks,  she  was  not  sure  that  she  wished  to 
answer  them.  She  was  so  certain  of  her  power  that 
she  liked  to  play  with  it  a  little  while. 

"  Yet  life  itself  is  often  only  a  tragedy,"  added 
Brice  slowly.  The  terrible  weight  of  his  position  was 
beginning  to  press  upon  him,  he  had  a  curious  feeling 
that  he  was  not  himself,  but  that  he  was  personifying 
Percy  Chester. 

"  Have  we  changed  places  ?  "  said  Magdalen,  stop- 
ping short,  just  as  they  reached  the  private  garden 
door  of  the  house,  left  open  this  evening  for  the  in- 
mates of  Rosehill.  "  You  know  my  secret,  we  are 
friends — you  said  so  ;  well,  to-night  it  seems  to  me  as 
if  the  other  story  was  a  play.  I  want  to  wake  again, 
I  want  to  live  a  little  while,  I  want  to — " ;  she  paused, 
and  the  words  rose  to  her  lips  bat  stopped  in  her 
throat — "  to  love  " ;  but  though  unspoken  they  were 
understood  by  Brice ;  aloud  she  changed  them  into 
"  I  want  to  forget." 

He  made,  however,  a  show  of  defiance. 

"  You  belong  to  the  world,  that  world  we  hear  the 
murmur  of  from  here;  you  would  find  any  other  life 
flat  and  stale,  like  a  mild  draught  of  watered  wine ; 
a  pastoral  makes  you  laugh."  Brice  spoke  bitterly 
and  in  a  low  voice. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


I97 


Magdalen  raised  her  head  proudly ;  her  eyes  so 
blue,  so  beautiful,  so  defiant,  flashed  forth  her  answer. 

"And  if  it  did?  I  have  not  laughed  for  years." 
Then  she  hurried  away,  and  Brice  woke  up  to  the 
reality.  Woke  up — O  God !  to  what  reality  ? 

He  tore  himself  away  from  the  open  doorway 
where  she  had  disappeared.  Had  he  followed  his 
inclination  he  would  have  stayed  there;  he  would 
have  waited  for  her,  disregarding  every  sense  of  right 
and  fitness;  he  would  have  borne  her  scorn,  he  would 
have  forgiven  her  bitter  jests,  if  only  he  might  have 
been  free  to  answer  her.  Brice  woke  up  at  this  mo- 
ment to  the  reality !  He  was  overmastered  by  a  pas- 
sion for  a  woman  whom  he  had  called  heartless, 
worldly ;  whose  life  was  so  artificial  that  it  required 
much  faith  to  believe  she  had  a  heart  at  all ;  whose 
early  disappointment  had  crushed  and  destroyed  what 
is  most  beautiful  in  nature — a  woman's  forgiveness 
and  a  woman's  love.  It  was  a  terrible  awakening  for 
him,  Brice  Leslie,  who  all  his  life  had  prided  himself 
on  his  uprightness,  who,  whilst  loving  the  sinner,  had 
viewed  a  guilty  love  with  pitying  contempt ;  who  had 
won — alas,  with  too  little  difficulty — the  pure  and 
young  heart  of  one  of  earth's  angels.  The  very  : 
knowledge  of  the  fact  staggered  him  and  almost 
crushed  him. 

But  Brice,  though  he  now  found  out  his  secret, 
though  it  stood  revealed  to  him  in  all  its  enormity, 
though  he  clearly  read  it  in  his  own  heart  as  he  might 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

have  read  it  out  of  a  book  suddenly  opened  before 
him,  was  not  yet  conquered.  Now  that  it  was  so 
clear,  now  that  it  glowed  as  if  written  in  fiery  letters 
upon  his  brain,  he  made  a  brave  stride  in  an  opposite 
direction,  he  boldly  drew  his  sword  to  show  fight. 
His  mind  once  made  up,  he  walked  slowly  but  firmly 
away,  along  the  path  he  and  Magdalen  had  just 
trodden.  He  could  mentally  hear  her  very  tread,  the 
rustle  of  her  dress,  the  tones  of  her  voice,  and,  worst 
of  all,  he  could  recall  that  play,  the  delight  it  had 
been  to  watch  her ;  the  knowledge  he  had  acquired  of 
her  thoughts,  and  the  involuntary  show  of  deeper 
feeling  she  had  exhibited.  Brice  saw  it  all,  and  how 
every  motion,  every  look,  had  increased  the  love  that 
mastered  him. 

"  Griselda  will  be  expecting  me,"  he  said,  half 
aloud.  "  I  must  go  back  to  her,  to  Griselda."  He 
wanted  the  sweet  name  to  bring  back  his  peace  of 
mind,  he  wanted  to  wake  from  this  mad  dream,  he 
who  had  laughed  to  scorn  the  very  idea  of  loving 
this  unlovable  woman — he,  Brice  Leslie,  who  was  en- 
gaged to  Griselda  Foy.  She  whose  beauty  and  youth 
and  innocence  was  admired  on  all  sides  rose  before 
his  mind's  eyes,  as  the  vision  of  the  blessed  Virgin 
might  appear  to  a  devout  and  ardent  Catholic;  but 
for  that  very  reason  Griselda  belonged  entirely,  or  so 
it  now  seemed  to  him,  to  a  region  of  pure  idealism, 
though  in  reality  she  possessed  a  fund  of  fresh  joy 
which  was  intensely  human.  Her  very  beauty  was 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

too  perfect,  too  unconscious,  too  ignorant  of  its  own 
charms,  too  wanting  in  the  enticing  aggressiveness  of 
a  less  innocent  nature  to  be  able  to  cope  with  the 
fascination  of  Magdalen  Cuthbert. 

Brice  saw  it  all,  saw  how  dangerous  had  been  the 
temptation  within  reach  of  which  he  had  voluntarily 
placed  himself,  and  how  complete  had  been  his  fall,  a 
fall  which  he  had  not  expected,  but  which  he  now  saw 
was  merely  the  natural  consequence  of  his  actions. 

He  could  not  even  accuse  Magdalen,  for  how 
could  she  know  about  Griselda  ?  No,  she  did  not 
know  it,  she  had  not  even  guessed  his  secret.  If  she 
cared  about  him,  it  was  a  true  feeling,  for  there  was 
no  reason,  no  material  advantage  about  him  to  tempt 
her  into  false  love ;  what  they  felt  was  the  unexplain- 
able  mysterious  soul-attraction  of  two  human  beings. 
Then  suddenly  he  asked  himself,  "  But  does  she  care, 
or  is  she  merely  pretending,  playing  with  me  as  she 
has  done  with  many  others,  and  am  I  going  to  drop  a 
substance  for  a  worthless  shadow?"  The  idea  was 
crushing  but  wholesome  ;  it  gave  him  a  new  strength, 
so  that  he  felt  capable  of  renouncing  his  own  inclina- 
tion, and  struggling  on  in  the  old  safe  path,  or,  meta- 
phor apart,  it  made  him  walk  hastily  to  the  supper- 
tent  to  seek  out  Griselda. 

In  the  open  doorway  the  scene  was  one  of  brilliant 
mirth  and  fascinating  enjoyment.  Lady  Mary,  look- 
ing her  best,  was  in  animated  conversation  with  the 
Duke,  and  the  rest  of  the  company  were  also  in  the 


200  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

full  swing  of  conversation.  There  were  but  two 
empty  chairs  representing  the  absent  guests,  and  these 
were  placed  next  to  each  other,  the  rest  of  the  actors 
having  already  made  their  way  to  their  tent  to  enjoy 
the  choice  things  provided  for  the  company.  These 
two  seats  awaited — Brice  recognised  it  at  once — him- 
self and  Magdalen.  How  could  he  alter  this  state  of 
things  ?  He  cast  his  eyes  quickly  over  the  guests  and 
soon  discovered  Griselda,  but  Lord  Colefoot  was  by 
her  side,  and  he  was  devoting  himself  to  her,  so  that 
no  empty  space  remained  for  Brice.  Made  bold  by 
his  late  decision  and  his  dread  of  defeat,  Brice  walked 
quickly  to  the  table  where  sat  his  Griselda.  Her 
quick,  joyous  glances  soon  found  him  out,  and  indi- 
cated by  a  side  look  her  disgust  at  having  no  place 
for  him.  Lord  Colefoot  was  delighted  to  see  another 
moth  fluttering  round  his  new  wax  candle.  He  put  a 
rimless  eyeglass  into  one  eye  and  looked  at  Brice  as  if 
he  were  a  strange  curio. 

"Aw — yes — hum;  the  fellow  who  acted  just  now," 
he  remarked  to  Griselda. 

"A  great  friend  of  mine,"  she  answered,  with  a 
little  smile  hovering  round  her  lips.  "  We  used  to 
have  such  rides  together  in  New  Zealand."  Then  as 
Brice  had  come  near  enough  to  speak  to  her,  she 
turned  towards  him  and  introduced  him  to  the  young 
lord.  This  New  Zealand  child  was  so  free  from  self- 
consciousness  that  she  was  not  even  shy. 

"  Mr.  Leslie,  Lord  Colefoot,"  and  she  added,  "  We 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  2OI 

were  talking  of  you,  of  course.  How  well  you  acted! 
It  was  splendid,  quite  first-rate." 

"  Some  of  you  were  professionals,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  young  lord. 

"  Yes,  some  of  us,"  said  Brice,  smiling.  "  So  the 
rest  of  us  were  put  on  our  mettle.  There  is  no  seat 
here,  I  see.  Lady  Mary  has  been  generous  with  her 
chairs.  No  one  is  allowed  to  stand." 

"  Where  is  Miss  Cuthbert  ?  "  said  Griselda.  "  She 
was  really  splendid." 

Brice  turned  round  as  if  to  look  for  her,  but  deceit 
was  so  foreign  to  his  nature  that  he  made  no  remark. 
Magdalen  had  not  come  back,  so  he  resolved  to  eat 
his  supper  in  haste  before  she  did  so. 

"  The  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  supper  ;  I  shall  see 
you  again,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  addressing  Griselda, 
and  then  he  walked  away.  How  young  and  fresh  and 
happy  she  looked — his  Griselda  !  she  seemed  now 
more  like  his  daughter ;  yes,  that  was  how  it  was. 
Had  he  been  foolish  to  win  her  affeclion  ?  He  was 
too  old  for  her,  certainly  he  was  very  old  in  compari- 
son, her  simplicity  was  intensely  fascinating  in  theory, 
but — .  He  sat  down  in  the  place  assigned  to  him,  and 
felt  as  if  a  ghost  were  by  his  side — not  Magdalen,  but 
that  other  woman,  the  horror  of  his  young  manhood, 
the  ruin  of  Percy  Chester's  life,  his  friend's  evil  genius, 
his  curse.  Fool  that  he  was !  how  could  he,  Percy, 
have  left  a  diamond  for  worthless  glass  ?  "  Fool !  and 
— well,  so  are  we  all,"  he  thought. 


202  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY, 

He  poured  out  a  glass  of  champagne  and  drank  it 
down,  then  he  ate  a  few  mouthfuls  and  felt  partly  re- 
vived ;  he  was  strong,  and  had  yet  some  resisting 
power.  He  had  been  frightfully  imprudent,  he  had 
been  taken  unawares ;  but  he  was  a  man,  not  a  weak 
fool,  he  would  get  over  this  mad  infatuation  ;  but  Miss 
Cuthbert — Magdalen  ;  did  she —  ? 

Brice  rose  quickly  ;  a  few  others  had  done  the 
same,  and  were  strolling  again  into  the  gardens.  It 
was  getting  late,  some  of  the  carriages  had  been  an- 
nounced, as  Brice  saw  to  his  satisfaction,  for  now  the 
evening  would  soon  be  over.  As  he  passed  out  he 
heard  various  exclamations  about  Miss  Cuthbert ; 
where  was  she?  Ah,  there  she  was!  just  coming  in. 
A  murmur  of  applause,  greetings,  questionings  fol- 
lowed. Brice  placed  himself  in  a  recess  where  he 
could  observe  Magdalen  without  being  seen.  She 
was  resplendent  in  some  dark  crimson  attire ;  Brice 
saw  only  the  general  effect,  but  he  noted  a  necklace  of 
small  diamonds  round  her  throat,  he  noted  the  splen- 
did pose  of  her  head  and  the  waving  hair  that  ap- 
peared to  have  arranged  itself  into  that  faau  desordre 
disorder  which  represents  the  highest  art.  Her  lips 
were  beautiful  in  colour,  her  smiles — she  seemed  lavish 
of  them  as  the  men  pressed  round  her  to  congratulate 
her.  Then  she  walked  slowly  down  the  tent,  she  must 
pass  close  by  him.  How  he  hated  the  men  who 
crowded  about  her,  how  he  hated  the  smiles  she  gave 
them  so  willingly,  smiles  that  seemed  so  cheap  to  her. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


203 


Such  a  woman  fed  on  admiration  ;  she  was  not  worth 
a  life's  devotion.  He  was — just  then  she  came  within 
hearing,  and  the  words  he  heard  were — 

"  Oh,  without  Mr.  Leslie's  acting  I  could  not  have 
done  it !  You  must  praise  him.  By  the  way,  where  is 
he?" 

Brice  experienced  a  revulsion  of  feeling.  She  was 
after  all  thinking  of  him,  asking  for  him  ;  if  she  gave 
away  her  smiles  to  others,  she  gave  him  her  thoughts ; 
she —  He  almost  stepped  forward  and  proclaimed 
himself,  he  almost  walked  up  to  her  and  before  them 
all  took  his  place  at  her  side,  almost, — but  then,  with 
a  strong  effort,  he  turned  his  back  upon  the  animated 
group  and  walked  slowly  out  into  the  cool  night  air. 

He  did  not  know  which  path  he  look.  He  was 
not  conscious  of  the  stray  couples  he  met ;  he  only 
knew  that  he  was  flying  from  himself  and  from  her. 
All  at  once  some  one  touched  his  arm. 

"  O  Brice,  there  you  are  !  I  have  been  looking  for 
you  everywhere."  It  was  Griselda.  "  That  stupid 
Lord  Colefoot  would  stick  to  me,  and  he  is  so  fool- 
ish." Griselda  laughed  happily.  "At  last  I  had  to  say 
that  I  was  going  to  look  for  Miss  Cuthbert  to  help 
her,  but  she  is  surrounded  with  people.  Now,  let's 
have  a  little  walk.  It  is  jolly  getting  you  to  myself. 
Come  this  way,  Brice,  and  tell  me  everything.  Oh,  I 
have  so  much  to  tell  you.  This  fortnight  has  seemed 
very  long  without  you.  Papa  laughs  at  me  for  being 
so  studious,  and  mamma  says — "  Here  Griselda 


204 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


paused  and  laughed  again,  "  There,  never  mind  what 
she  says;  tell  me  everything."  He  placed  her  hand 
on  his  arm  and  looked  at  her  with  his  wonderful  smile 
of  protecting  love.  She  was  accustomed  in  the  old 
days  to  his  silent  ways. 

"  My  little  girl  has  been  enjoying  herself  ? "  he  said* 
gently. 

"  Yes,  very  much.  If  I  could  have  been  near  you 
it  would  have  been  perfect.  But  I  liked  to  hear  peo- 
ple praising  you,  Brice.  You  acted  your  part  so  well, 
oh,  so  well !  and  Miss  Cuthbert — wasn't  she  splendid  ? 
Fancy,  Brice,  this  evening  when  I  first  came  Lady 
Mary  took  me  to  her,  and  she  gave  me  this  rose.  I 
have  pinned  it  in  again  so  carefully,  for  fear  I  should 
lose  it.  I  think  she  is  quite,  quite  fascinating — don't 
you  ?" 

"  To  a  good  many  persons,  evidently." 

"  Yes,  I  am  amongst  the  number.  Isn't  she  hand- 
some, and  so — so — I  don't  know  how  to  express  it,  but 
she  looks  very,  very  sad  sometimes.  Not  before  peo- 
ple, but  when  she  is  alone.  This  evening,  for  instance, 
when  we  were  doing  the  flowers,  she  made  me  feel  in- 
clined to  cry.  Do  you  know,  Brice,  she  seems  to  me 
to  belong  to  an  old-world  civilisation ;  I  feel  so 
young,  so  modern,  near  her.  In  New  Zealand  we 
could  never  have  found  any  one  like  her.  I  think 
new  lands  are  not  haunted  as  old  worlds  seem  to  be. 
I  believe  that  all  the  disappointed  people,  when  they 
die,  become  ghosts  and  wander  about  and  tease  peo- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

pie,  so  that  old  countries  are  more  full  of  unquiet 
spirits  than  our  new  homes  on  the  other  side  of  the 
world." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  he  answered  ;  then,  after  a  pause, 
he  asked,  "  Have  you  seen  the  illuminated  fountain  ?" 
He  had  looked  round  and  noted  that  there  was  a 
stream  of  people  coming  out  from  the  supper-tent, 
and  he  did  not  wish  to  meet  Magdalen  at  the  moment. 

"  No  ;  take  me  there.  Brice,  when  are  you  coming 
home?" 

"  To-morrow  most  likely.  If  Lady  Mary  will  let 
me  go,  it  will  certainly  be  to-morrow,  but  I  must 
just  help  Mr.  Milton  to  clear  all  this  artificialism 
away." 

"  It  has  been  perfect !  I  think  Lady  Mary  is  a 
born  genius.  She  is  so  very  agreeable — a  lady  of  so- 
ciety in  the  nicest  sense  of  the  word." 

"  Yes,  and  in  its  most  pleasant  interpretation,  and 
she  hates  dulness.  There  are  few  like  her." 

"  How  countrified  and  ordinary  it  makes  one  feel 
to  know  such  people — at  least,  it  gives  me  that  feel- 
ing ;  but  you,  Brice,  you  seem  to  fit  in  wherever  you 
go.  I  felt  so  proud  of  you  during  the  acting,  and  I 
wished  to  tell  everyone  that  you  cared  for  me,  a  stu- 
pid little  thing  like  me." 

"  On  the  contrary,  Griselda,  if  you  had  said  so,  the 
people  here  would  have  answered  that  I  was  an  aw- 
fully lucky  fellow.  You  have  been  very  much  ad- 
mired. I  began  to  think  that  I  ought  not  to  bind  you 


206  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

down  to  a  life  of  commonplace,  or  perhaps  a  bush  life, 
when  here  you  might  be — " 

"What  nonsense!  You  and  I  are  made  for  coun- 
try life.  I'm  sure  I  should  get  sick  of  parties  and 
compliments,  and  you  would  laugh  at  the  poor  people 
and  make  no  end  of  enemies.  Brice,  can't  you  fancy 
how  these  people  would  despise  our  old  motto,  A  Dieu 
Foy,  aux  amis  Foyer  ?  I  love  parties  like  this,  and  I 
shall  love  dancing,  but  I  shall  never  regret  any  of 
them — never,  when — " 

"  When  what,  dear  ?•"  said  Brice  very  quickly. 

Griselda  looked  round;  there  was  no  one  near 
them,  they  were  alone.  The  beauty  of  the  scene  made 
her  realise  something  of  life's  strange  mystery,  for  the 
play  had  saddened  her  a  little.  Not  given  to  romance, 
the  girl  suddenly  felt  a  touch  of  the  strange  longing 
for  that  love  which  takes  one  out  of  oneself  into  an 
ideal  existence.  She  clasped  both  her  hands  round 
his  arm  and  laid  her  fair  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  When  I  am  your  wife,  Brice." 

The  fountain  splashed  its  illuminated  drops  close 
by  them,  as  if  a  rainbow  had  dissolved  into  flowing 
water.  Above,  the  trees  shivered  slightly,  as  the  tiniest 
breath  of  wind  came  to  whisper  its  good-night  among 
their  branches.  Life  to  Griselda  was  like  this  rainbow 
hue,  all  variety  and  all  beauty,  and  Brice  was  the  centre 
of  the  iridescent  arc. 

But  Griselda  was  too  young  to  be  cautious,  too 
young  to  be  suspicious,  and  her  casual  glance  had 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


207 


decided  that  the  place  was  deserted.  In  another  mo- 
ment Magdalen  Cuthbert  rose  from  a  hidden  seat  close 
at  hand.  She  did  it  so  naturally  that  there  was  no 
time  for  embarrassment  or  for  flight ;  indeed,  Griselda's 
fair  curling  hair  still  touched  Brice's  shoulder  as  Miss 
Cuthbert  spoke. 

"We  both  thought  this  place  deserted,"  she  said, 
and  laughed — yes,  laughed  her  little  hard  laugh  that 
Brice  knew  so  well,  the  one  in  which  there  was  no  joy 
and  no  hope.  Griselda  ought  to  have  been  covered 
with  confusion,  but  she  was  herself  at  once  as  she 
momentarily  stood  away  from  Brice. 

"  O  Miss  Cuthbert !  I  am  glad  it  was  only  you,  be- 
cause, do  you  see,  it  is  all  a  secret." 

"  Evidently,"  said  Magdalen,  and  la.ughed  again, 
"  but  I  warn  you  others  may  come." 

"  You  had  better  go  home,  Griselda,"  said  Brice, 
forcing  himself  to  speak  naturally.  "  It  is  late,  come 
and  look  for  Mrs.  Hope ;  I  must  do  my  duty  with  the 
other  guests." 

He  walked  quickly  forward,  and  Griselda  followed 
him,  nodding  her  "  good-night "  to  Miss  Cuthbert,  and 
adding  to  Brice,  "  Oh,  dear  Brice,  don't  be  annoyed  ; 
Miss  Cuthbert  looks  so  true,  she  will  say  nothing,  and 
I  am  sure  she  will  understand." 

Then  Magdalen  Cuthbert  was  left  alone.  She 
walked  a  step  back,  and  sat  down  again  on  the  seat 
where  she  had  been  so  well  concealed.  Why  had  she 
come  here  ?  She  had,  with  difficulty,  managed  to  get 


2o8  A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY. 

away  from  the  admiring  crowd,  because  she  wanted  to 
see  Brice ;  she  fancied  he  had  not  been  in  the  supper- 
tent.  Were  his  feelings  hurt  ?  was  he  mistaking  her  ? 
Could  he  not  understand  that,  at  last — after  all  these 
years,  he,  this  quiet  sympathetic  Brice,  this  friend  in  a 
thousand,  had  touched  her  poor,  cold  heart ;  that  he 
alone,  of  all  the  men  she  had  known  and  who  had  flat- 
tered her,  had  been  capable  of  restoring  animation  to 
a  dead  thing;  that  he  had  made  her  believe  that  life 
was  still  worth  living,  and  that  love  was  still  possible, 
that  she  still  could  love.  The  discovery  had  been  so 
marvellous,  so  strange,  that  she  had  let  herself  only 
very  reluctantly  believe  it,  but  the  very  reluctance  had 
been  sweet.  Yes,  she  knew  it  now,  her  life  still  con- 
tained something  worth  living  for.  She  had  so  much 
to  give,  and  for  so  long  it  had  been  locked  away,  hid- 
den, frozen,  or  withered.  No,  it  had  only  been  frozen. 
Brice  had  allowed  the  warm  sun  to  penetrate,  and  the 
frozen  depth  had  been  moved,  and  then  slowly  ex- 
panded into  love.  And  now — 

After  all,  he  was  the  lover  of  another — worse,  he 
was  engaged;  how  foolish  of  her  not  to  guess  it 
sooner,  not  to  know  that  all  men  are  liars,  and  that  all 
men  are  willing  to  deceive.  That  girl,  that  simple- 
minded  child,  she  had  won  his  heart — she,  a  mere  but- 
terfly, a  fluttering,  clinging  creature  who  could  love 
any  one,  who  might  marry  any  one  because  of  her 
beauty,  a  mere  milk-maid  beauty — she  had  taken  him 
from  her.  No,  that  could  hardly  be  the  case;  the  time 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


209 


was  not  long  enough,  it  was —  Magdalen  paused  in 
her  train  of  thought  and  slowly  rose  and  stood  by  the 
illuminated  fountain.  Though  there  was  no  one  to 
admire  her,  she  seemed  to  be  posing  before  herself; 
she  felt  that  she  was  a  grand,  a  beautiful  woman,  a 
woman  who  could  fascinate  when  she  chose  and  whom 
she  chose ;  that  any  other  woman,  opposed  to  her,  had 
very  little  chance  of  victory,  that  is,  if  she  chose — 
Here  Magdalen  laughed  softly  and  bitterly  ;  this  child, 
this  fair-haired  New  Zealander,  was  no  obstacle  in  her 
way.  Was  it  not  plain  already  that,  without  meaning 
it,  without  knowing  it,  she  had  supplanted  her,  and  if 
she  chose — ?  Magdalen  wrapped  a  transparent  gauze- 
like  scarf  around  her,  and  it  seemed  to  add  a  new  soft- 
ness and  beauty  to  her  face;  then  with  a  slow,  deliber- 
ate step,  she  walked  back  to  the  lawn  where,  already, 
the  number  of  guests  was  much  thinned,  and  where 
Lady  Mary  and  her  husband  were  receiving  the  last 
gracious  and  hearty  thanks  of  their  friends. 

"  Magdalen,  where  have  you  been  hiding  ? "  said 
Lady  Mary  ;  "  the  Dake  has  gone,  and  was  so  sorry  not 
to  wish  you  good-bye." 

"  I  was  walking  in  fairyland,"  said  Magdalen,  smil- 
ing; then  she  plunged  into  conversation  with  the  vari- 
ous groups  of  guests,  and  everyone  remarked  how 
brilliant  and  clever  Miss  Cuthbert  was,  and  how  ex- 
tremely handsome.  The  Duke  had  been  heard  to 
admire  her,  and  the  Duke — as,  of  course,  all  Dukes 
must  be — was  a  connoisseur  in  female  beauty. 


2io  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

Then,  at  last,  all  the  guests  were  gone,  the  serv- 
ants ran  hither  and  thither ;  Frank  and  Brice  Leslie 
went  about  examining  dangerous  or  expiring  lights ; 
the  illuminations  depending  on  electricity  were  sud- 
denly extinguished,  the  darkness  reasserted  itself, 
only  the  stars  shone  out  in  the  still,  hot  night. 

Lady  Mary  linked  her  arm  into  Magdalen's. 

"  It  is  over,"  she  said,  "  really  I  am  almost  sorry, 
and  I  am  so  much  elated  with  the  compliments  I  have 
received." 

"  It  is  well  over,"  answered  Magdalen,  "  for  you 
have  succeeded  ;  I  think  success  cures  all  regrets." 
Lady  Mary  was  struck  by  something  in  Magdalen's 
voice. 

"  Success  is  so  common  with  you,  dear,  why  don't 
you  ever  follow  it  up  ?  I  know  someone  who  has 
been  in — I  won't  say  heaven,  because  of  one's  uncer- 
tain knowledge  of  that  region,  but  in  Arcadia  this 
evening."  Magdalen  smiled. 

"  You  mean  Mr.  Leslie,"  she  said  quite  calmly. 
Lady  Mary  laughed. 

"  I  name  no  names.  But  come,  Magdalen,  you 
must  be  weary ;  the  gentlemen  won't  be  in  for  some 
time ;  let  us  go  to  bed.  I  owe  you  too  much  to  wish 
to  ruin  your  beauty." 

Magdalen  was  delighted  to  disappear  before  the 
men  came  back. 

When  she  was  left  alone  she  did  not  lose  her 
smiles ;  on  the  contrary,  she  went  to  the  great  pier 


A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY.  211 

glass  and  looked  at  herself  with  intense  pleasure  and 
satisfaction.  It  was  not  merely  vanity  that  filled  her 
soul,  but  a  genuine  admiration  for  her  own  beauty. 
Her  eyes  sparkled  like  living  diamonds,  her  cheeks 
were  exquisite  in  colour.  "I  do  choose,"  she  said  at 
last;  "  the  obstacle  is  so  insignificant,  just  big  enough 
to  give  one  enough  incentive.  He  was  Percy's  friend, 
and  I  love  him ;  that  child  does  not  matter ;  I  even 
forgive  him,  for — he  had  not  seen  me  then." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE  next  morning  three  persons  at  Rosehill  woke 
up  with  unusual  thoughts  and  feelings.  Lady  Mary, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  a  smile  of  satisfied  triumph  : 
she  had  succeeded.  She  knew  she  had  led  a  fashion, 
that  others  would  follow  or  try  to  follow  her  exam- 
ple, and  that  for  a  time  at  least  society  through  her 
means  would  be  less  dull.  She  would  not  have 
changed  places  with  any  one  in  the  world  this  morn- 
ing. On  the  other  hand,  she  was  just  a  little  uneasy 
about  her  other  triumph;  why  had  Magdalen  looked 
so  supremely  calm  at  the  mention  of  Brice  Leslie  ? 
was  she  going  to  disappoint  her  after  all  ?  It  would 
be  quite  a  shabby  trick,  considering  Lady  Mary  had 
set  her  heart  on  marrying  Magdalen — for  love  too, 
not  for  money  ! 

It  was  certainly  time  to  apply  a  little  gentle  pres- 
sure, or  to  find  out  where  the  hitch  was.  Brice  Leslie 
would  soon  be  gone,  but  he  must  not  depart  without 
being  engaged  to  Magdalen.  Lady  Mary  was  pre- 
pared to  send  the  paragraph  to  the  society  papers: 
"  We  understand  that  a  marriage  has  been  arranged 
between  Miss  Cuthbert,  so  well  known  in  London 


A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY.  213 

society,  and  Mr.  Brice  Leslie  of  "  (some  queer 

name  in  New  Zealand),  "  for,"  she  added  to  herself, 
"  an  unpronounceable  place  lends  enchantment  to  an 
unknown  name ;  people  are  afraid  to  own  their  igno- 
rance of  geography,  and  they  fancy  that  perhaps  the 
locality  may  be  very  famous  or  perhaps  the  seat  of  a 
millionaire." 

Brice  himself  was  fighting  a  fierce  strife  between 
passion  and  honour.  He  had  no  intention  of  giving 
way ;  he  hated  himself  for  having  fallen  so  low.  He 
recognised  that  even  if  a  man  is  not  master  of  his 
heart  he  is  master  of  his  actions,  and  to  find  out  now 
that  Griselda  Foy  was  too  simple-minded,  too  much  of 
the  pure-angel  type  of  womanhood  to  inspire  a  man's 
most  passionate  feelings,  was  certainly  a  base  action, 
— an  action  sober  morality  denounces  and  society 
calls  an  ugly  name, — that  society  which  countenances 
unproclaimed  evil  but  will  not  condone  such  conduct 
in  an  honourable  man. 

Brice  was  engaged  to  Griselda,  and  he  would  marry 
her.  He  loved  her  with  the  deep  quiet  love  that  had 
grown  up  with  him  from  her  childhood  ;  he  loved  her 
because  one  loves  what  is  beautiful ;  he  loved  her  be- 
cause evil  and  Griselda  were  lines  that  had  no  meeting 
point. 

Magdalen  Cuthbert  had  not  really  satisfied  the 
deepest  longings  of  his  complete  nature,  but  she  had 
at  the  same  time  attracted  and  repelled  all  his  emo- 
tions. She  had  given  the  lie  to  his  best  feelings,  and 


214 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


she  had  also  called  forth  his  passion  and  his  noblest 
love  and  pity.  She  attracted  and  repelled  him,  and 
sometimes  these  sentiments  followed  each  other  in 
such  quick  succession  that  they  appeared  to  be  simul- 
taneous. 

After  last  night's  revelation,  what  would  she  say 
to  him  or  think  of  him  ?  Well,  it  was  best  so.  She 
would  scorn  and  despise  him,  without  knowing  that  he 
had  never  meant  to  be  overmastered ;  that  he  had  be- 
gun by  despising,  and  then  that  he  had  been  cut  by 
the  edge  he  fancied  too  blunt  to  wound  him.  If  the 
dream  were  not  over  for  him  it  must  be  for  her :  she 
would  reject  even  his  friendship.  Better  to  go  away 
at  once  without  seeing  her,  to  find  some  excuse  for 
flight,  than  to  stay  and  be  scorned  ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  would  attract  attention,  and  she  would  per- 
haps suffer  unjustly  for  him.  Therefore  Brice  Leslie 
was  ready  to  endure  martyrdom. 

And  the  last  of  the  trio,  Magdalen,  that  morning 
looked  into  her  glass  and  saw  that  her  lips  were  set  in 
the  old  fashion ;  saw,  for  she  had  learnt  to  study  her- 
self, that  the  look  of  indifference  was  assumed,  and 
she  knew  that  her  last  state  was  worse  than  her  first. 
Only  for  one  moment  she  softened  :  she  sat  down  by 
the  open  window  and  her  strange  blue  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  as  she  said,  brushing  them  bravely  away,  "  He 
had  better  have  left  me  with  my  dead  love,  it  was 
sweeter  than  this  new  birth." 

Then,  ashamed  of  her  own  weakness,  she  clasped  a 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  21$ 

bracelet  on  her  wrist  and  snapped  it  fiercely.  "  It  is 
my  turn  now,"  she  said,  "  my  turn  ;  he  must  take  care 
of  himself." 

And  so  the  three  went  down  and  met  as  ordinary 
mortals,  or  rather  Lady  Mary  was  delightful,  bright, 
and  cheerful,  as  if  she  had  not  undergone  unheard-of 
efforts  and  fatigue ;  Magdalen  brilliant  and  caustic  in 
her  remarks,  Brice  Leslie  silent,  and  Frank  Milton 
intensely  matter-of-fact  about  results  and  damages. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  the  husband  that  pays  the  piper, 
eh,  Lady  Mary  ? "  said  the  artist,  laughing.  "  What 
will  this  little  fancy  cost?" 

"  What  a  vulgar  and  sordid  idea  !  "  said  his  wife. 
"Some  people  spend  thousands  to  give  their  friends 
pain ;  we,  a  few  hundreds  to  give  them  intense  pleas- 
ure. The  pleasure-givers  of  the  world  are  its  kings 
and  queens.  Now,  Frank,  how  can  you  complain 
about  the  cost  of  a  joint  crown  ?  " 

"  A  case  of  William  and  Mary,"  said  Magdalen, 
"one  takes  and  one  pretends  to  give."  Then  she 
turned  towards  Brice,  "If  Lady  Mary  takes  a  crown, 
perhaps  she  will  bestow  something  on  us  the  poor 
strolling  players." 

"  Ah,  you  clever  people  are  uncrowned  kings  and 
queens !  Look  at  Frank,  his  portraits  bring  him  more 
fame  and  money  than  all  my  talents  can  effect  or 
procure." 

"Your  talents  bring  you  more  debts  than  I  can 
pay,"  said  Frank,  smiling. 


2i6  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  Fie,  for  shame,  Frank !  if  we  were  not  a  contrast 
how  we  should  quarrel !  I  believe  in  contrasts."  She 
gave  a  side  glance  towards  Magdalen. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Miss  Cuthbert,  "but  your  excite- 
ment has  made  us  dull  to-day;  suggest  something  to 
raise  our  spirits." 

"What  a  happy  thought!  After  a  fitful  fever  let 
us  have  rest ;  I  vote  for  a  barge  expedition  down  the 
canal.  To  have  no  trouble  but  to  be  wafted  past 
beautiful  things  is  in  itself  an  excitement." 

"I  am  expected  home,"  said  Brice  quietly;  he  had 
not  looked  at  Magdalen,  though  he  was  of  course  in- 
tensely conscious  of  her  presence. 

"What,  to-day?"  she  said,  turning  towards  him; 
"they  give  you  a  short  time  to  get  over  the  fatigues; 
besides,  talking  events  over  is  better  than  the  thing 
itself.  In  duty  to  all  of  us,  Mr.  Leslie,  you  ought  to 
stay  another  day." 

"  If  I  am  commanded — " 

"  Of  course  you  are,"  put  in  Lady  Mary.  (What 
can  these  two  be  up  to  ?  she  thought,  feeling  a  lit- 
tle puzzled.)  "  Can  you  disobey  a  Queen's  com- 
mands ?" 

"Besides,"  added  Frank,  "you  wanted  to  study 
this  new  electric  battery.  The  engineer  comes  again 
to-day,  and  you  must  see  him." 

"Then  the  barge,  Frank — can  you  send  someone 
about  it  ?  I  feel  that  it  is  the  only  cure  I  can  have 
for  the  anxiety  I  have  gone  through." 


A  WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 

"Very  well,  but  why  can't  the  female  mind  cease 
fluttering  ? " 

"That  recalls  the  dove." 

"And  the  dove  the  serpent.  By  the  way,  Leslie, 
are  serpents  really  wise  ?  if  so,  wisdom  always  seems  a 
little  at  a  discount.  I  expect  you  to  be  a  naturalist." 

"We  didn't  deal  in  serpents  in  New  Zealand,  we 
left  them  for  the  Zoo  here."  Brice  said  anything  that 
came  into  his  head.  He  was  thinking,  "  She  wishes 
me  to  stay  one  day  more ;  I  may  as  well.  Griselda 
will  easily  understand  that  I  can't  get  away  at  once. 
By  Jove,  what  a  trustful  darling  she  was,  never  even 
so  much  as  guessed  anything  yesterday !  " 

"  You  will  despise  a  canal  barge,"  said  Magdalen, 
looking  at  him;  "but  it  has  its  peculiar  charm,  it 
gives  you  time  to  make  up  your  mind  about  difficult 
subjects." 

"  Hang  her,  she  is  making  fun  of  me,"  thought 
Brice ;  "  after  all,  she  wasn't  in  earnest,  I  believe. 
She  is  fooling  all  the  time.  Yes,  I'll  stay  to  prove  to 
her  that  I'm  not  fooled."  Aloud,  Brice  added — 

"  I've  tried  every  means  of  progression.  There  is 
some  pleasure  in  all  of  them." 

"  They've  quarrelled,"  thought  Lady  Mary.  "  This 
won't  do.  Yes,  the  barge  is  really  the  best  idea.  No 
exertion,  and  nothing  to  ruffle  the  Magdalen's  temper. 
At  times  she  is  not  altogether  honey  or  molasses. 
Has  he  proposed,  or  has  he  not  ? " 

Magdalen  spoke  next. 


2i8  A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY. 

"  You'll  want  a  supply  of  newspapers,  Lady  Mary, 
to  read  what  society  says  about  you." 

"  It's  of  no  consequence  what  they  say,  so  that 
they  mention  me.  By  the  way,  I  always  wonder 
which  of  one's  guests  is  the  newspaper  correspondent 
in  disguise — don't  you,  Mr.  Leslie  ?  " 

"  A  lady,  I  conclude,  they  so  easily  conceal  their 
true  occupations." 

"  You  are  getting  on,  1  declare.  In  another  month 
you  will — no,  I  will  leave  my  prophecy  well  concealed. 
Come,  Magdalen,  come  and  help  me  to  reckon  up  my 
liabilities;  Frank  likes  early  settling.  By  the  way, 
Frank,  let  us  take  the  Duke  at  his  word,  and  land  at  the 
Hall,  so  that  Mr.  Leslie  may  see  his  show-place.  The 
picture  of  the  Duchess  in -the  drawing-room  is  one  of 
Frank's  best — it  is  nearly  as  plain  as  Her  Grace  herself." 

"  I  hate  show-places,"  said  Magdalen  quickly. 
"  Do  you  remember  Thackeray's  account  of  the 
housekeeper's  description — 'The  side  entrance  and  'all. 
The  halligator  hover  the  mantelpiece  was  brought 
home  by  Hadmiral  St.  Michael  when  a  Capting  with 
Lord  Hanson.  The  harms  on  the  cheers  is  the  harms 
of  the  Carabas  Family.'  " 

"  Magdalen  is  a  born  republican.  She  would  suit 
the  New  World,  Mr.  Leslie."  Then  the  two  ladies 
walked  away  with  smiling  faces. 

"I'll  go  down  the  village  and  wire  home,"  said 
Brice,  rising;  "the  ladies  seem  to  wish  to  undertake 
this  barge  affair." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  219 

"  Oh,  you  have  only  to  please  yourself,  you  know, 
Leslie,"  said  the  artist;  "  I'm  going  back  to  the  paint- 
pots.  One  can't  tell  what  one's  womenfolk  will  be  up 
to  next.  One  has  to  go  straight  on,  or  else  one's  sure 
to  fall  into  snares." 

"  Sure  to,"  said  Brice,  laughing,  but  his  was  a 
forced  laugh ;  then  he  sat  down,  wrote  his  telegrams 
and  went  out. 

But  he  went  out  in  a  strange  frame  of  mind.  He 
wished  at  one  moment  that  he  could  go  home  im- 
mediately and  never  see  Magdalen  again,  and  then 
the  next  instant  he  was  feeling  intense  pleasure  at  the 
thought  of  being  in  her  presence  for  a  few  hours 
more,  watching  the  turn  of  her  head,  hearing  her 
speak.  She  should  not  find  it  out,  and  now  she 
knew — 

But  the  strange  thing  was,  Magdalen  seemed  to 
act  as  if  she  had  not  met  Brice  and  Griselda  together, 
as  if  she  had  altogether  misunderstood  the  scene,  as  if 
Griselda  had  said  nothing,  and  this  strange  ignorance 
puzzled  Brice  dreadfully.  He  did  not  know  whether 
he  were  glad  or  sorry.  It  made  him  madly  uncertain 
of  everything,  of  himself,  of  Magdalen,  even  of  Gri- 
selda ;  but  outwardly  he  was  calm  and  grave,  only 
just  a  little  calmer  and  graver  than  usual,  and  Lady 
Mary  felt  like  a  hound  that  has  lost  the  scent,  and 
sniffs  about  hither  and  thither  to  find  it  again.  What 
could  it  all  mean  ?  Those  two  must  be  lovers,  and  if 
the  party  had  not  sufficed — why,  that  barge  excursion 


220  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

must  put  the  finishing  touch.     She  would  land  at  Old- 
ham  Castle  and  sketch,  they  should  have  no  excuse 
(these  contrary  lovers),  because  of  course  they  were 
lovers ;  it  was  no  use  denying  such  a  thing. 
If  Lady  Mary  had  known  the  truth  ! 

The  barge  as  chartered  by  Lady  Mary  Milton  was 
a  thing  of  beauty.  It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  she 
would  allow  such  a  suitable  and  effective  thing  as  a 
canal  barge  to  go  unadorned  by  her  genius.  She 
wished  it  to  be  a  Watteau-like  creation,  one  which 
would  serve  for  the  "  Embarkation  for  the  Island  of 
Cythera  " ;  she  meant  it  to  be  worthy  of  Magdalen's 
engagement.  She  had  a  charming  way  of  settling 
wished-for  events;  this  lady  certainly  ought  to  have 
had  a  wider  sphere ;  but,  at  all  events,  unlike  many  of 
us,  she  made  the  best  of  the  one  accorded  to  her.  The 
draping  of  the  seats  was  charming,  the  Eastern  rugs 
were  of  softest  harmonies ;  there  were  light  garlands 
of  wild  flowers  twined  in  and  out,  and  there  was  ex- 
treme comfort.  There  are  some  artists  who  are  artists 
of  the  material,  though  they  cannot  draw  a  stroke. 
;In  their  hands  flowers  and  stuff  both  seem  to  fall  into 
exquisite  forms  and  poses  and  folds ;  it  is  a  gift  that 
is  born  with  them  and,  unlike  draughtmanship,  cannot 
be  improved. 

Frank  Milton  utterly  refused  to  join  this  expedi- 
tion ;  he  wanted  to  rest  in  his  own  way,  but  so  far 
relented  that  he  promised  to  ride  over  to  the  ruined 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  221 

castle  of  Oldham  in  the  evening  and  to  escort  them 
back.  He  had  his  doubts  about  "  Mary's  mania,"  but 
he  was  a  wise  man  and  was  not  going  to  interfere. 
Leslie  was  soon  departing,  and  then  Miss  Cuthbert's 
fascination  must  end. 

It  was  to  be  a  day  of  surprises,  however,  for 
several  persons. 

Lady  Mary  ordered  some  dainty  cakes  and  tea  to 
be  put  up  in  a  basket;  she  meant  to  make  this  bever- 
age at  the  ruins,  and  they  should  get  back  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening.  If  a  proposal  is  ever  to  be  made,  no 
time  is  so  opportune  as  towards  sunset.  She  remem- 
bered that  Frank  had  selected  the  evening  hour  for 
his  declaration ;  she  was  fond  of  repeating  this  as  a 
fact,  though  he  had  often  told  her  the  hour  of  his 
declaration  had  been  really  pure  chance. 

The  beauty  of  this  waterway  baffled  description 
to-day,  and  when  the  three  reached  the  canal  bank 
they  could  not  refrain  from  expressing  their  delight 
at  the  glowing  richness  of  the  colouring.  Brice's 
silence  was  hardly  noticeable,  for  the  ladies  kept  up  a 
lively  conversation.  Magdalen  showed  no  conscious- 
ness of  his  silence,  broken  as  it  was  now  and  then 
by  fits  of  talkativeness.  She  was  acting  as  if  she  were 
a  queen  and  he  a  mere  subject  hardly  worthy  of 
notice. 

"  Only  one  day  more,"  thought  Brice,  "  and  then — 
But  hang  it  all !  why  doesn't  she  show  what  she  means 
and  what  she  thinks  of  me  ?  Have  I  fallen  too  low  in 


222  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

her  estimation  to  make  even  that  explanation  worth 
while  ? " 

The  barge  was  to  be  drawn  by  a  led  horse ;  a  man 
was  at  the  helm  to  steer,  and  there  was  nothing  for 
the  three  to  do  but  enjoy  themselves. 

Suddenly  Lady  Mary  remembered  an  omission ; 
she  had  brought  no  sugar.  The  castle  was  a  lonely 
spot  where  nothing  could  be  purchased,  so  it  was  ab- 
solutely necessary  that  they  should  take  all  requisites. 

It  was  some  ten  minutes  from  a  small  village  shop, 
and  Brice  immediately  started  off  to  rectify  the  omis- 
sion, while  Lady  Mary  and  Magdalen  settled  them- 
selves among  the  cushions. 

"  We  shall  have  a  lovely  expedition,  my  Magdalen," 
said  the  charming  hostess,  opening  her  sunshade, 
"  and  then  I  shall  lose  my  guests.  All  good  things 
end  very  soon  in  this  world,  and  my  cousin  is  one  of 
the  good  things  of  life.  Come,  acknowledge  that  you 
think  so."  Lady  Mary  did  not  expect  an  acknowledg- 
ment, she  fancied  she  knew  Magdalen  too  well,  but 
she  asked  it  all  the  same. 

"Yes,"  said  Magdalen,  clasping  her  hands  above 
her  head,  from  which  her  large  hat  had  fallen  off, 
causing  a  diamond  ring  on  her  finger  to  flash  forth 
light  among  her  dark  wavy  hair.  "  Yes,  he  is  a  man 
one  could  like." 

Lady  Mary  was  inwardly  delighted,  but  she  turned 
away,  however,  to  leave  Magdalen  more  free  to  speak 
her  mind. 


A  WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 


223 


"  A  man  one  could  love,"  she  said  very  softly. 

"  Yes,  a  man  one  could  love,"  repeated  Magdalen 
quietly  ;  and  Lady  Mary's  heart  beat  faster. 

"  Magdalen,  my  dear  friend,  if  you  think  so — why, 
I  know  that  he — " 

"  That  he  loves  me  !  Yes,  so  do  I — " 
'  "  And  you  return  it.  Then,  O  Magdalen !  you 
can't  tell  how  much  I  have  wished  for  that — that  to 
happen  to  you.  I  do  believe  in  love  and  marriage ; 
see  how  happy  we  are,  Frank  and  I ;  a  woman  is  made 
to  be  worshipped,  petted,  and  spoilt  through  life — for 
that  end  she  was  created,  I  believe.  Of  course,  some- 
times things  go  wrong,  but " — Lady  Mary  waxed  bold 
— "  the  past  is  wiped  away  when  the  future  looks 
golden.  You,  Magdalen,  have  felt  some  things  too 
strongly  ;  it  is  your  nature,  but  even  the  saddest  ex- 
periences can  be  forgotten." 

Magdalen  smiled,  and  all  her  nature  seemed  to 
soften  and  unbend  for  a  few  moments  as  she  leant 
towards  her  friend. 

"  You  are  a  true  friend,  a  noble  woman,"  she  said, 
and  such  words  f,rom  Miss  Cuthbert  meant  a  good 
deal.  "  Will  you  never  change,  never  disbelieve  in 
me,  as  so  many  do  ? " 

"  Never,  Magdalen.  There,  you  see  I  am  not 
jealous  even  of  Brice  Leslie." 

"  Brice  Leslie  ! "  Magdalen's  tone  was  strange  and 
past  understanding. 

"  Magdalen,  don't  let  any — any  pride  come  between 
15 


224 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


you  and  a  true  man's  love,  I  beseech  you.  There  are 
yet  many  years  of  happiness  before  you ;  you  will 
give  him  what  he  requires  ;  and  he — I  have  watched 
him  narrowly — he  has  a  strong  nature,  capable  of  any 
amount  of  disinterested  affection  for  a  woman  he 
loves.  In  that  he  is  something  like  Frank." 

There  was  a  pause.  Magdalen  stooped  over  the 
side  of  the  barge  and  let  the  water  gurgle  against  her 
diamond-encircled  fingers. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ? "  she  said  very 
softly. 

"  To — to — say  '  yes '  if,  or  when,  he  asks  you  to 
be  his  wife." 

Magdalen  lifted  her  head  suddenly,  her  eyes  flashed, 
forth  a  lightning  glance,  her  face  flushed  and  her  red 
lip  squivered.  Never  had  Lady  Mary  seen  her  so  much 
moved. 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  asking,"  she  said, 
"  but  if  you  care  to  hear  it,  to  know  it,  I  will  promise 
you — if  Brice  Leslie  asks  me  to  be  his  wife  I  will  say 
'yes.'" 

Lady  Mary  was  uneasy.     This  sounded  unnatural. 

"But  you  mean  you  will  discourage  him.  That 
will  not  be  fair." 

"On  the  contrary,  1  shall  encourage  him — to — 
to—" 

"  To  hear  his  fate  ? "  said  Lady  Mary,  laughing 
nervously. 

"  He  is  coming,"  said  Magdalen,  pointing  to  Brice, 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


225 


who  was  walking  quietly  down  the  bank,  and  who  had 
been  hidden  by  the  ruins.  "  Perhaps  I  had  better  say 
'  no  '  to  all  you  have  asked  me  ?  "  Magdalen  was 
really  agitated.  A  struggle  was  going  on  in  her  mind. 

"  No,  no,  Magdalen,  you  have  promised,  you  can- 
not draw  back ;  believe  me,  I You  have  been 

very  quick,  Mr.  Leslie.  Now,  come  in  and  I  will  give 
the  word  of  command  to  depart.  The  flies  have  been 
teasing  that  poor  cart-horse  almost  to  desperation." 

Brice  stepped  into  the  barge  and  found  that  the 
place  left  for  him  was  close  to  Magdalen.  In  another 
moment  they  were  gliding  down  with  that  peculiar 
motion  which  one  can  only  experience  by  this  mode 
of  progression.  Brice  spoke  first. 

"  This  is  charming,  and  really  for  beauty  it  will 
bear  comparison  with — " 

"  Your  own  canal  boats,  I  suppose,"  said  Magdalen. 

"Yes;  but  here  it  is  more  wooded,  more  luxuriant, 
more  fascinating." 

"  Less  commonplace,  in  fact ;  but  for  ordinary  life 
the  commonplace  is  the  safest ;  we  soon  tire  of  the 
eccentric.  Now,  Lady  Mary,  this  is  the  time  for  a 
song.  Shall  it  be  a  duet,  or  a  trio  ? " 

All  Magdalen's  gaiety  had  returned;  her  smile 
seemed  to  give  out  happiness  ;  her  eyes  laughed  with 
her  lips.  Brice  felt  that  his  courage  was  going ;  why 
had  he  not  run  away  ?  He  had  fancied  himself  so 
brave,  so  bound  by  custom,  so  tied  by  every  obliga- 
tion of  right,  that  he  believed  he  would  be  hedged  in 


226  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

by  it;  and  that  now  she  knew  the  truth —  But  it 
seemed  she  knew  and  did  not  care ;  she  could  be  as 
merry  as  before,  evidently  he  was  nothing  to  her.  It 
was  better  so,  infinitely  better,  but  he  felt  the  struggle 
was  still  fierce,  he  was  weakened  by  that  very  uncon- 
scious manner  of  hers. 

Brice  crossed  his  arms  and  listened  to  the  two 
voices  as  they  sang  a  little  boat-song,  set  to  a  strange 
weird  melody,  by  a  friend  of  Lady  Mary,  an  amateur 
genius;  Magdalen's  contralto,  though  not  powerful, 
was  in  perfect  tune. 

The  barge  meanwhile  glided  along  to  the  music  of 
the  softest  gurgle  of  the  keel.  Now  and  then  a 
frightened  moor-hen  splashed  suddenly  into  the  reeds 
as  the  boat  cut  through  a  sheet  of  water-lily  leaves,  or 
separated  the  graceful  arrow-heads ;  or  else  brushed 
against  the  tall  bulrushes,  making  the  stragglers  bend 
forward  as  if  forcing  them  to  greet  the  fair  com- 
pany. 

Brice  gradually  turned  his  eyes  towards  Miss  Cuth- 
bert's  bright  countenance ;  it  was  as  if  she  were  a  sun, 
and  he  but  a  poor  new  world,  bound  to  be  powerfully 
attracted,  though  also  influenced  by  an  opposing  force, 
and  bound  to  try  and  fly  into  space.  Was  she  acting 
thus  on  purpose  ?  was  she  so  cruel  as  to  defy  him  ? 
No,  he  would  not  be  a  mean  coward ;  he  would  resist 
this  influence,  however  powerful  it  might  be. 

"  Look,  do  you  see,  Mr.  Leslie,  there  is  a  perfect 
picture :  the  bridge  so  exquisitely  reflected  in  the 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  227 

water,  and  that  solitary  cow  coming  to  drink  at  the 
shallow  part,  with  its  child-conductor.  It  is  a  pet  cow 
evidently.  You  see  that  sort  of  thing  abroad,  but  not 
here  often.  Surely  New  Zealand  can  give  you  nothing 
more  beautiful." 

"Nothing!"  said  Brice ;  he  was  thinking  of  Mag- 
dalen herself. 

"  But,  anyhow,  the  humanity  of  the  New  World  is 
better  than  ours.  Last  night  there  was  a  fair  sprink- 
ling of  our  richest  aristocratic  young  men,  and  they 
had  all  a  very  scented  kid-glove  appearance." 

"  Nature  suits  its  life  to  the  surroundings,"  said 
Brice  earnestly ;  "  these  young  men,  I  suppose,  are 
framed  to  combat  a  scented  kid-glove  life,  whilst 
we  in  our  New  World  are  easily  overcome  by  what 
seems  to  them  perfectly  natural  to  everyday  life." 

"  The  sledge-hammer  has  to  be  regulated  by 
delicate  machinery,  you  mean,"  said  Lady  Mary,  smil- 
ing; "  but  if  you  give  us  the  sledge-hammer,  we  will 
provide  the  rest." 

"  You  will  take  out  a  patent  for  it,"  said  Magdalen. 

"  I  fear  the  iron  would  be  destroyed  before  the 
machinery  could  be  adjusted;  the  finest  metal  is  the 
most  brittle." 

"  It  does  not  impair  its  value.  Ah,  there  are  the 
ruins  in  sight.  Now  for  a  gypsy  fire  and  tea  at  a  pic- 
nic ;  one  feels  a  child  again." 

"  It  is  too  early  yet ;  but  if  you  two  will  guard  the 
provisions,  I  will  choose  a  spot  and  give  orders  about 


228  A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY. 

the  horse  and  its  driver.  The  two  men  will  most 
likely  have  hop-tea." 

Lady  Mary  was  cunning  to-day — quite  barefaced- 
ly indeed.  At  another  time  Magdalen  would  have 
laughed  at  her,  to-day  she  had  no  heart  to  laugh  ; 
her  heart  was  too  heavy  for  laughter,  too  proud  for 
tears. 

The  two  who  were  thus  left  alone  did  not  even 
pretend  that  it  was  natural,  or  that  they  were  as  usual. 
A  silence  fell  on  both.  Magdalen  lay  slightly  back 
on  the  cushions  and  watched  the  waving  willow-leaves 
which,  dipping  into  the  water,  were  continually  being 
taken  down  stream  for  a  little  way,  and  yet  never 
could  reach  further.  That  was  like  her  life,  she 
thought,  always  carried  forward  but  never  advancing ; 
striving  vainly  after  an  unknown  unknowable  bourne; 
attached  by  force  of  habit  to  a  well-recognised  stand- 
ard of  life,  but  loving  an  impossible  ideal.  Impos- 
sible ?  To  whom  could  she  turn  ?  she  whom  the 
world  considered  so  strong,  and  who  was  yet  so  weak ; 
who —  What  was  she  doing  ?  She  was  softening, 
and  this  was  certainly  not  the  time  to  be  weak.  She 
clasped  her  hands  firmly  together,  and  slowly  turned 
her  eyes  to  Brice.  All  the  coldness  she  could  express 
in  her  eyes  was  there. 

"  You  will  go  to-morrow,  Mr.  Leslie,  having 
learnt  the  lesson  Lady  Mary  wished  you  to  learn — the 
ways  of  the  rich,  clever,  aristocratic  world.  Outside 
that  circle  comes  chaos,  a  bubbling  confusion,  mate- 


A  WOMAN  OF   FORTY.  229 

rial  not  yet  fused  into  any  known  shape,  a  thing  of 
naught." 

"Why   should  you  be  ironical,   Miss  Cuthbert  ? " 
• 
he  said,  in  his  old  impatient  tone,  that  tone  which  had 

first  attracted  Magdalen's  attention. 

"  Why  ?  for  convenience's  sake,  I  suppose." 

Another  pause,  and  this  time  the  pause  was  dan- 
gerous, for  the  smile  that  hovered  about  those  lips 
was  maddening  to  Brice.  Love  and  something  like 
hatred  fought  together  in  him,  and  he  exclaimed — 

"  What's  the  use  of  fooling  like  this  ?  You  know 
it  all — all  that  miserable  story  !  Why  did  I  ever  see 
you  ? "  His  face  was  intensely  in  earnest  now,  and 
therefore  intensely  attractive  to  Magdalen. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  all — since  last  night — and  who  is  to 
blame — am  I  ?  "  The  tone  was  one  of  withering  scorn. 

"  You  offered  me  friendship,"  said  Brice,  much  in 
the  same  tone  as  his  earliest  prototype,  "  and  I  ac- 
cepted it;  how  could  I  tell  that — but  you  knew  your 
power  well  enough." 

"  Yes,  but  I  did  not  know  yours,"  said  Magdalen, 
almost  under  her  breath. 

Another  pause  followed,  but  Magdalen's  lips  quiv- 
ered ;  this  time  there  was  more  pleasure  than  pain 
expressed  on  them.  She  had  stretched  out  her  un- 
gloved fingers  and  was  grasping  the  edge  of  the  barge  ; 
the  blue  veins  made  a  delicate  tracery  down  the  white 
hand  and  the  under-part  of  the  wrist.  Brice  held  out 
his  hand  and  tried  to  place  it  on  hers. 


230  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  Don't  touch  me,"  she  said  quickly  and  angrily, 
"  you  have  no  right  to  do  so." 

"  I  have,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  passionate  voice. 
«  Good  God,  Magdalen,  the  right  which  worship  gives 
to  a  man." 

"  A  man  who  is  engaged  to  someone  else." 

Magdalen  laughed  scornfully. 

"  Yes."  He  was  bold  now  ;  he  dared  to  look  the 
fact  in  the  face. 

"  Do  you  know  ? "  she  said,  hiding  her  face  by 
turning  it  away,  so  that  Brice  could  only  see  the  ex- 
quisite line  of  neck  and  ear,  "  that  you  are  reacting 
Percy's — life  ?  " 

"  No,  that  was  criminal ;  mine  has  only  been  a 
terrible  mistake." 

"  A  mistake  you  are  bound  to  accept." 

"  Bound — bound  to  act  a  lie — no,  for  the  sake 
of-" 

"  Hush,"  said  Magdalen.  "  How  can  I  believe 
you  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  Tell  me  how  to  prove  my 
words  ? " 

Magdalen  turned  towards  him,  lifted  her  hand 
slowly  and  pushed  back  her  hat  as  she  slowly  passed 
her  hand  over  the  restless  waves  of  her  hair. 

"  Deny  that  you  intended  to  be  silent  to-day." 

"  I  can't.  I  came  here  meaning  to  keep  true  to — 
an  ideal,  Magdalen — the  reality  has  been  too  strong 
for  me.  Won't  that  satisfy  you  ? " 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  231 

There  came  the  old,  short,  dry  laugh. 

"I  knew  it,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  you  have  been  trying  to  be  cruel." 

"  No,  it  is  natural  to  me." 

"  Then  you  are  incapable  of  feeling — of — love  ?  " 
he  said  impatiently,  "  and  yet  you  are — a  woman,  a 
beautiful  woman." 

"  I  learnt  it  long  ago — from  a  man." 

"  Percy — good  God  !  Let  me  tell  you  what — " 
But  Magdalen  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to  know.  I  have  buried  him — 
at  last — " 

"  As  you  will  bury  the  remembrance  of  this  talk, 
whilst  I—" 

"  You  know  nothing  of  what  time  can  do,  will  do — 
nothing." 

"  Nothing.  Listen,  Magdalen,  it  is  you  who  know 
nothing,  nothing  of  a  man's  love — it  is  an  awful  thing; 
it  makes  him  weak  as  a  child ;  it  eats  his  life  away ;  it 
crushes  out  his  existence  ;  it  makes  the  day  hateful 

and  the  night Magdalen,  whatever  you  do,  don't 

laugh  ;  if  you  do,  I  shall  feel  as  if  I  should  have  only 
strength  to  kill  you." 

Magdalen  slowly  clasped  her  hands  and  for  once 
did  not  disobey. 

"  One  can  see  you  have  not  suffered  long — or 
often,"  she  said  scornfully.  She  was  not  in  the  least 
frightened  by  his  vehemence.  She  liked  it.  To  see 
Brice  Leslie,  usually  so  quiet,  so  self-contained,  like 


232 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


this  was  balm  to  her  mind.  If  she  loved — and  this 
fact  she  hardly  dared  own  or  contemplate  at  this 
moment, — she  still  wished  to  keep  a  clear  brain  and 
not  allow  herself  to  be  guided  by  passion ;  it  was  such 
a  new  experience,  she  wished  to  reserve  it,  to  hide  it 
from  everyone,  almost  from  herself. 

"Time  has  nothing  to  do  with  such  things,"  he 
said  still  impatiently.  Then  breaking  off,  as  if  argu- 
ment was  puerile,  he  seized  Magdalen's  hand — 

"  You  are  so  clever,  you  understand  partly,  only 
partly ;  tell  me  what  you  command,  and — I  can  do 
that,  I  can  obey.  With  you  it  is  a  matter  for  argu- 
ment, a  psychological  study.  I  don't  understand  such 
things.  My  life  out  there  was  so  simple,  so  straight- 
forward ;  here  I  seem  to  be  entangled  in  a  net — oh  !  but 
there  must  be  simple  ways  of  disentangling  oneself." 

"  Very  simple ;  Percy  took  one  of  them,"  said 
Magdalen  scornfully.  "  He  was  your  friend." 

Brice  lifted  his  head  proudly ;  even  for  Magdalen 
he  would  not  deny  his  friend, — and  she  loved  him  for 
this  constancy,  at  the  same  moment  as  she  scorned 
him  in  words. 

"  Yes,  he  was  my  friend,"  said  Brice  slowly.  "  He 
made  you  suffer,  but — " 

Magdalen  moved  her  hand  impatiently. 

"  Leave  him  out  of  this  question." 

"  Magdalen,  I  can,  I  will,  devote  my  life  to — 

"  To  make  up  for  his  mistake."  She  laughed.  "  I 
am  not  a  girl  of  twenty." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


233 


Brice  Leslie  was  deeply  hurt.  With  his  arms 
crossed  he  looked  away  down  into  the  depth  of  the 
clear  water,  he  bit  his  lip  to  prevent  himself  from 
saying  something  bitter  to  the  woman  who  was  so 
intensely  cruel — was  it  consciously  or  unconsciously  ? 

Unperceived  by  him  Magdalen  was  watching  him  ; 
she  knew  she  had  wrung  his  heart;  she  knew  that — 
whether  consciously  or  unconsciously  she  hardly  knew 
herself — she  had  drawn  him  on,  forced  him  to  love 
her.  She  had  done  it  in  other  cases,  and  had  not  re- 
pented ;  but  before,  it  had  not  been  with  men  like 
Brice  Leslie.  She  looked  around  sadly ;  the  great 
weariness  of  life  fell  upon  her,  almost  overcame  her, 
that  weariness  that  finds  comfort  in  the  idea  of  Nir- 
vana, in  the  belief  that  life  itself  is  a  dream  of  a  dream. 
Was  this  conflict  worth  while — she  thought  to  herself, 
was  any  thing  worth  while  ?  Suddenly,  bending  over 
the  edge  as  if  to  seek  for  what  attracted  Brice,  she  saw 
her  own  reflection ;  it  quivered  in  the  quivering  ele- 
ment, and  it  was  beautiful.  After  all  beauty  was  tan- 
gible, real,  capable  of  being  enjoyed  and  capable  of 
giving  enjoyment.  What  did  the  rest  matter  ?  the  gos- 
pel of  right  and  wrong  might  be  a  myth,  but  beauty 
was  intensely  real. 

"  Brice,"  she  whispered,  holding  out  her  hand, 
"  Brice,  forgive  me."  (This  was  the  first  time  Magdalen 
Cuthbert  had  ever  petitioned  any  one  to  forgive  her.) 
"  But  listen,  that  is  Lady  Mary's  voice,  she  is  in  pain 
— come !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THERE  has  been  a  great  deal  written  about  the 
dual  action  of  the  brain,  about  conscious  and  uncon- 
scious hypnotism,  about  the  power  of  persons,  under 
special  circumstances,  to  transmute  nervous  diseases. 
Doubtless,  this  is  an  age  of  wonderful  psychological 
discoveries,  discoveries  which  will  in  the  near  future 
open  out  an  entirely  new  field  of  thought.  Men's 
ideas  about  weakness  and  will  and  crime  will  be  modi- 
fied and  revolutionised,  and  the  ancient  prejudices 
which  once  made  our  forefathers  settle  matters  of 
right  and  wrong  in  a  delightfully  offhand  manner, 
that  saved  them  an  infinity  of  trouble,  will  disappear. 
The  time  may  indeed  come  when  the  still  more  ancient 
ideas  of  fairies  and  demons  may  be  found  to  be  true, 
and  further,  we  shall  then  discover  that  what  in  men 
and  women  was  called  inconsistent  action,  is  in  truth 
the  work  of  other  separate  influences  which  make  up 
their  whole  nature,  and  that  it  is  the  supremacy  of  one 
of  these  influences  which  forms  the  apparent  character 
— subject,  nevertheless,  to  the  chance  of  a  sudden  up- 
rising of  one  of  the  weaker  or  partially-subdued  ele- 
ments. In  his  own  person,  man  is  in  truth  a  battle- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  235 

field  where  many  are  fighting  for  supremacy.  The 
mystery  which  envelops  us  is  on  the  whole  still  a 
mystery,  though  now  and  then  we  get  glimpses  of  un- 
realised possibilities  and  of  vast  uncertainties. 

Some  evil  genii  were  mixing  themselves  up  very 
much  in  Lady  Mary's  affairs  this  afternoon,  or  so  she 
thought.  In  the  first  place,  as  she  was  walking  back 
softly  towards  the  barge,  wishing  to  see  how  things 
were  progressing,  she  unfortunately  fell  over  a  hidden 
root,  and  the  cry  of  pain  forced  from  her  at  once 
brought  Magdalen  and  Brice  to  her  help.  That  was 
bad  enough,  for  they  had  to  help  her  up  and  stay  with 
her  till  she  was  fairly  out  of  pain ;  but  then,  who 
should  appear  but  Frank  and  Frank's  brother,  who 
had  just  made  his  appearance  at  Rosehill,  taking  them 
by  surprise,  from  the  steppes  of  Russia.  After  that 
there  was  nothing  more  to  hope  for,  and  the  little  lady 
only  trusted  that  the  short  interval  of  solitude  which 
the  lovers  had  enjoyed  had  sufficed  for  them  to  come 
to  an  understanding. 

She  would  have  given  a  good  deal  to  know  for  cer- 
tain ;  but,  in  the  meanwhile,  the  picnic  proceeded  hap- 
pily, the  gentlemen  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing, 
whilst  the  two  ladies  sat  down  on  soft  Eastern  rugs 
and  were  assiduously  waited  upon.  Lady  Mary  had 
not  a  moment  alone  with  Magdalen,  but  she  noticed 
that  she  was  quiet,  almost  sad,  and  that  half  her  mer- 
riment had  flown.  This,  however,  might  be  a  good 
sign.  Captain  Milton  was  a  very  amusing  man,  who 


236 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


had  travelled  much  and  was  a  mine  of  good  stories 
and  anecdotes,  so  Magdalen's  sadness  was  not  observ- 
able. One  sign,  however,  was  very  visible,  and  this 
was  that  Brice  devoted  himself  to  her,  watched  her 
least  movement,  and  answered  stray  questions  from 
others  in  an  absent  manner. 

Lady  Mary  was  hopeful,  for  she  knew  Magdalen 
was  not  a  woman  to  be  won  in  a  moment.  She,  there- 
fore, fancied  progress  was  satisfactory. 

The  evening,  too,  was  pleasant  and  cheerful,  and 
when  the  men  came  back  to  the  drawing-room  there 
was  much  to  tell  the  returned  traveller,  and  much  to 
hear  from  him.  Magdalen  and  Brice  could  thus  talk 
apart  without  being  conspicuous,  and  from  her  corner 
Lady  Mary  noted  all  this  with  pleasure.  Later  on, 
unfortunately,  the  sky  clouded  over,  the  heat  turned 
into  a  thunderstorm,  and  rain  came  down  in  sheets, 
amidst  the  congratulations  of  the  party  at  its  having 
kept  off  so  long.  It  was  just  like  Mary's  luck,  her 
husband  said. 

It  is  impossible  to  have  much  private  conversation 
in  a  room  with  only  five  persons  in  it ;  but  Brice 
watched  his  opportunity  and  managed  to  say,  under 
cover  of  Magdalen's  music — 

"  Magdalen,  I  must  go  to-morrow."  He  dared  not 
say  more,  but  he  was  forced  to  say  this.  That  previ- 
ous conversation  had  been  very  unsatisfactory,  in 
spite  of  her  last  relenting  speech. 

Since  that  moment,  perhaps  something  of  the  por- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


237 


tentousness  of  the  deed  he  was  contemplating  had 
come  over  Brice.  He  felt  that  he  must  be  sure  of 
Magdalen,  certain  of  her  feelings,  before  he  dared 
outrage  the  feelings  of  some  of  the  best  people  he 
knew. 

He  hated  society  more  than  ever  this  evening. 
He  would  have  liked  all  kinds  of  impossible  things; 
he  would  even  have  preferred  to  run  away  from 
everything — almost  from  Magdalen  and  her  enchant- 
ments, from  the  attraction  of  her  every  movement  and 
the  fascination  of  her  smile. 

She  had  apparently  got  over  that  soft  influence  by 
the  time  he  had  spoken  the  words,  for,  quite  heedless 
of  him,  she  went  on  playing  the  piano. 

When  she  spoke  it  was  with  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  Well  ? " 

"What  do  you  command  ?  "  he  said,  hardly  know- 
ing or  understanding  what  it  was. 

"  You  forget  I  am  a  woman,"  she  answered,  under 
cover  of  her  music,  "  and  you  are  a  man.  We  were 
born  to  obey  the  lords  of  creation,  I  believe." 

Brice  was  angry  at  her  pretended  playfulness. 

"What  nonsense  !  Sooner  or  later  this  must  end 
— I  must  come  back." 

"  What  for  ?  "  She  struck  a  chord  and  looked  up, 
not  at  him  but  at  the  picture  opposite,  representing 
some  inferior  artist's  idea  of  the  blessed  Damozel. 
That  legend  had  never  impressed  Magdalen  except  as 
a  poetical  fancy ;  she  preferred  Leconte  de  Lisle's 


238  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

poems  with  their  new  Buddhist  tendencies  and  Orien- 
tal philosophy,  or  Shelley  and  Keats,  and  all  their  in- 
tense poetic  charm  of  pure  ideal  poetry.  The  blessed 
Damozel  waiting  for  her  lover  seemed  too  much  like 
life  itself  to  be  associated  with  the  thought  of  a  here- 
after, if,  as  Magdalen  said  sometimes  with  a  look  of 
sadness,  there  was  one. 

"  For  you,  Magdalen,"  he  said,  stooping,  as  if  to 
turn  the  page  of  a  music  book,  and  by  that  means 
coming  so  near  to  her  that  he  felt  her  warm  breath 
upon  his  cheek,  "  I  must  come  back  for  you — when  I 
am  free."  She  smiled  a  little  ironically,  so  he  con- 
tinued— 

"  You  do  not  believe  it  ?  I  wish  your  unbelief 
were  true,  but  I  shall  come  back,  and  when  I  do — !  " 
Magdalen  lifted  her  hands  from  the  keys  and  turned 
over  the  leaves  of  the  music  book.  At  the  other  end 
of  the  room  the  other  three  were  loud  in  conversation. 

Captain  Milton  was  telling  a  ghost  story,  and  the 
snatches  of  it  reached  the  two  at  the  piano.  "  Well, 
the  lady  always  would  make  her  appearance  upon 
settling-day,  and  stood  by  him  as  he  received  the 
tenants'  rents.  It  was  enough  to  scare  them  out  of 
their  wits,  the  fellow  told  me.  First-hand  story,  you 
know — " 

"  Not  a  bad  excuse  to  find  for  refusing  to  pay 
rent,"  said  Frank.  "  I  declare  those  Irish  knaves  have 
a  wonderfully  keen  sense  of  humour.  Just  imagine 
an  English  tenant — " 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


239 


Magdalen   felt    her    hand    suddenly    grasped    by 

Brice. 

"  When  I  come  back — a  free  man,  promise  me." 

"  Hush,  they  will  see  you.  Do  you  think  I  am  one 
who  can  receive  or  give  promises  ?  Do  you  think  I 
have  learnt  nothing  from  the  past  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  learnt — " 

"  I  say,  Miss  Cuthbert,"  put  in  the  Captain — he 
was  not  in  the  plot  and  knew  nothing  of  Lady  Mary's 
plans — "  now  you  have  done  playing,  come  and  tell  us 
if  you  believe  in  ghosts." 

Magdalen  rose  and  walked  forward,  much  to 
Brice's  intense  disgust. 

"Yes.  Ghosts  of  one's  own  thoughts;  those  are 
stranger  than  any  ordinary  received  idea  of  disem- 
bodied spirits." 

"  Thoughts !  Oh,  they  are  natural  and  all  that, 
but  I  should  like  to  see  a  bond  fide  ghost.  Heard  of 
them,  of  course,  but  as  to  seeing  them !  Upon  my 
word,  though,  I've  met  a  fellow  who  said  he  had  seen 
the  Flying  Dutchman.  Don't  believe  a  word  of  it, 
but—" 

"  Till  you  do,  you  suspend  your  judgment  to  the 
mast-head,  Arthur  ?  "  said  Lady  Mary ;  "  but  you 
should  have  been  here  last  night,  and  then  you  might 
have  beheld  something  better  worth  seeing  than 
ghosts.  To  think  what  one  may  miss  in  twenty-four 
hours! — So  you  must  really  leave  us  to-morrow,  Mr. 

Leslie  ?    Is  it  positively  necessary  ?  " 
16 


240 


A   WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


"  Yes,  positively ;  but  I  have  been  here  so  long,  I 
feel  as  if — " 

"  Spare  your  compliments  between  cousins.  You 
will  soon  be  back  again,  I  know." 

"  Yes,  very  soon,  I  hope,"  said  Brice  stupidly  ;  but 
Lady  Mary  forgave  him,  and  when  they  separated  for 
the  night  he  grasped  her  hand  warmly,  but  he  was 
also  conscious  of  the  thought — "  If  she  knew  ?  " 

Magdalen  paused  a  little  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
The  gentlemen  were  going  to  play  billiards,  but  the 
ladies  were  weary  and  were  retiring  early  to  rest. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
Brice,  and  the  smile  she  gave  him  wiped  away  many 
of  her  scornful  words.  Their  eyes  met  for  a  moment, 
then  Brice  repeated  her  "  Good-night,"  and  added 
"  Magdalen  "  almost  under  his  breath. 

Lady  Mary  had  gone  on,  but  waited  for  her  friend 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"  Well,  dearest  ?  "     Magdalen  shook  her  head. 

"  He  fancies  he  will  come  back  to  ask  me.  Say  no 
more  about  it  till  then."  But  all  the  same  there  was 
a  light  in  her  eyes  and  a  smile  of  conscious  pride  on 
her  lips.  She  had  avenged  her  womanhood,  or  so  she 
thought. 

"  Frank,"  said  Lady  Mary  that  night,  '•  Frank, 
I've  succeeded — or  all  but,  that  is — " 

"  Humph  !  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  him ;  you  know  I 
never  approved;  she's  too — too — " 

"  Hush,  you  naughty  man,  I  know  what  you  are 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  241 

going  to  say ;  but  you  don't  understand  Magdalen. 
There  is  so  much  good  in  her,  so  much  nobility — " 

"  So  much  of  many  things.     A  fine  mixture." 

"  So  are  we  all.  However,  that  will  be  Brice  Les- 
1  lie's  affair,  and  the  poor  fellow  is  madly  in  love.  I 
left  them  alone  a  little  this  afternoon,  and  I  think 
they  used  the  opportunity." 

"  When  does  the  Magdalen  not  use  it  ? "  inquired 
Frank  sceptically  ;  then  Lady  Mary  declared  he  was 
unfair  to  her  friend  and  that  she  would  tell  him  no 
more.  "  We  shall  miss  them  very  much,"  she  added, 
"  for  Brice  Leslie  leaves  to-morrow,  and  Magdalen  a 
a  few  days  after." 

"  Where  is  she  going  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

"  Mrs.  Stewart  is  still  unwell,  and  Magdalen  de- 
clares she  will  go  back  to  town  in  order  to  nurse  her. 
Fancy  Magdalen  in  town  now !  She  will  be  bored  to 
death." 

"  Bored  !  "  said  Frank ;  "  that  word  ought  to  be 
taken  out  of  the  language." 

"  That  won't  stop  the  disease,  and  it  seems  pretty 
general.  However,  once  married  she  will  have  enough 
trouble  to  keep  her  in  health  and  spirits." 

The  next  day  Magdalen  did  not  appear  at  break- 
fast, but  sent  word  she  had  a  cold.  Brice,  however, 
went  about  looking  intensely  miserable,  even  though 
Captain  Milton  was  cheerfulness  itself,  and  when  the 
time  came  for  him  to  take  leave,  as  he  was  going  by 
train,  he  asked  Lady  Mary  if  there  were  no  chance  of 


242 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


saying  good-bye  to  Miss  Cuthbert.  Brice  fancied  he 
spoke  and  looked  as  usual,  little  knowing  that  Lady 
Mary  possessed  the  key  of  his  sadness.  She  smiled  as 
he  asked  this  question. 

"Wait  a  moment;  I'll  send  up  and  see  if  she  is 
coming  down.  It  is  too  bad  of  her  to — to  stay 
away." 

"  I  am  afraid  she  is  suffering,"  said  Brice  anxiously. 
"  In  fact  it  is  depressing  weather,  and  I  think  I  am 
indulging  in  a  sore  throat." 

"  The  weather  has  much  to  bear,  it  certainly  must 
be  a  great  philosopher.  Now,  when  may  we  expect  to 
see  you  again  ?  Miss  Cuthbert  stays  till  Thursday ; 
why  don't  you  ride  over  and  wish  her  good-bye 
then  ? " 

Brice  looked  relieved.  "  Thank  you,  that  will  be 
best ;  wish  her — good-bye  for  me  now.  I  owe  you  so 
many  thanks  for  a  very  pleasant  visit,  Lady  Mary,  but 
how  shall  I  thank  you  ?  " 

"  You  have  forgotten  the  play,  the  gratitude  is  on 
my  side.  You  and  Magdalen  were  great  successes.  I 
hope  you  will  keep  up  that  character.  Good-bye ; 
you  must  go  at  once,  Frank  is  beckoning."  Brice 
hurried  off  but  retraced  his  steps.  "  Will  you  tell  her 
that  I  will  ride  over  on  Thursday — for  lunch,  if  I 
may  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  come,  by  all  means — you  will  be  always 
welcome." 

Then  Brice  drove  away,  looking  up  surreptitiously 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


243 


at  Magdalen's  window,  to  see  if  by  chance  she  were 
there,  but  all  was  silence. 

Magdalen  had  really  caught  a  slight  cold,  but  the 
reason  of  her  absence  was  a  wish  to  avoid  a  leave- 
taking.  "  He  will  come  back,"  she  said  several  times 
to  herself,  "  he  will  come  back  a  free  man.  Brice, 
Brice,  if  you  only  knew  !  This  time  it  is  the  biter  bit. 
This  time — Brice,  Brice."  She  knelt  at  the  window 
and,  peeping  through  a  crack,  looked  at  his  retreating 
figure  as  if  she  would  willingly  follow  him. 

As  for  Brice,  he  drove  away  in  a  kind  of  dream,  a 
nightmare  rather.  The  deluge  had  overtaken  him, 
the  waters  were  all  about  him,  and  he  could  see  them 
rising  visibly  whilst  he  looked  on  fascinated  and  horri- 
fied, yet  quite  unable  to  act.  Was  he  really  himself — 
the  Brice  Leslie  who  in  his  youth  had  been  able  to 
look  on  coldly  at  the  follies  of  others,  who  had  at 
times  found  himself  wondering  at  such  things  being 
able  to  tempt  men  away  from  their  ambitions  and 
their  superior  interests  ?  Who  was  this  Brice  Leslie 
who  was  ready  now  to  throw  away  everything,  every 
consideration,  every  standard  of  right  and  honour, 
for  a  woman  no  longer  young,  no  longer  capable  of 
giving  a  man  what  is  a  woman's  best  gift — youth  and 
simple  loving  devotion ;  a  woman  who  would  require 
everything  of  him  and  perhaps  would  be  incapable  or 
unwilling  to  give  much  in  return  ? 

Yet  this  mad  love,  born  in  such  a  strange  manner, 
was  really  engendered  by  all  that  was  noblest  in  Brice. 


244 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


One  could  almost  have  said  that  nature  was  reveng- 
ing herself  for  past  scorn  of  her  rights,  that  Brice  was 
bound  to  learn  suffering  through  love  and  love 
through  suffering,  that  his  beautiful  ideal  courtship  of 
Griselda  was  not  to  be  given  to  him  to  enjoy  (having 
paid  no  price  for  it),  that  man  cannot  live  in  the  ideal 
without  sooner  or  later  finding  that  some  perverse 
demon  will  revenge  itself  and  pull  down  his  fair 
palace. 

One  side  of  his  nature  craved  only  to  keep  true  to 
his  first  love,  to  reject  all  temptation  of  those  domi- 
neering senses,  to  reject  this  wild  infatuation  and  rest 
in  the  sublime  and  passionless  repose  of  an  ideal 
nature;  but,  on  the  other  side,  he  found  this  fortress 
attacked  by  a  powerful  foe,  a  foe  who  scorned  all 
obstacles,  a  foe  who  was  ready  and  willing  to  break 
down  every  barrier,  even  at  the  expense  of  losing  a 
limb  in  the  realisation.  It  was  a  strange  combat,  a 
combat  more  common  than  one  would  imagine,  but 
for  that  reason  jealously  kept  secret.  When  poor 
humanity  comes  out  of  the  conflict  it  comes  out  de- 
termined that  none  shall  know  of  the  warfare,  whether 
there  has  been  victory  or  defeat.  But  once  freed,  that 
soul  never  again  doubts  the  doctrine  of  a  dual  life, 
that  life  which  Christianity,  with  sublime  insight,  ex- 
presses in  her  creeds  as  the  fight  between  good  and 
evil,  and  which  the  heathen  world  ascribed  to  strife  in 
a  far-reaching  pantheism. 

But  the  material  world  rolls  on  its  way  heedless  of 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  245 

spiritual  combats,  and  day  and  night  monotonously 
succeed  each  other.  Man,  if  he  does  not  live  by  bread 
alone,  cannot  live  without  it,  though  he  may  crush 
down  his  emotions,  and  the  mundane  existence  of 
labour,  of  coming  and  going,  of  meals  and  useless 
remarks,  goes  on  like  a  treadmill  in  its  ceaseless 
round. 

Still,  even  in  this  material  existence,  Brice  felt  that 
something  was  wrong.  His  forehead  burned,  and,  in 
spite  of  its  being  a  warm  day,  he  shivered  as  he  entered 
the  train,  no  longer  doubting  he  really  had  a  bad  sore 
throat.  Was  he  ill  ?  Perhaps  it  was  only  the  excite- 
ment he  had  gone  through.  Anyhow,  when  he  got 
home,  he  would  be  sure  to  find  the  doctor  there,  for 
he  came  every  evening  to  see  his  father ;  he  might 
just  ask  him  if  there  was  something  wrong. 

He  ought  to  go  to  Foy  Lodge  that  evening  and  see 
Griselda,  but  the  very  idea  made  him  feel  wretched. 
He  had  told  her  of  his  expected  return — that  was  due 
to  her;  but,  when  he  saw  her,  how  explain  the  true 
facts  to  her  ?  how  tell  her  that —  Good  God !  he 
could  not  imagine  himself  doing  it;  and  yet  he  had 
promised  Magdalen  to  go  back  to  her  a  free  man. 
Should  he  write  ?  How  should  he  word  such  dishon- 
ourable conduct,  how — ? 

When  Brice  stepped  down  from  the  train  he  found 
his  sister  waiting  for  him  in  the  pony-carriage,  and 
the  matter-of-fact  appearance  of  this  lady  was  almost 
comforting  to  him  in  his  present  state  of  mind.  She 


246  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

was  one  of  the  human  beings  who  prefer  announcing 
disagreeable  reports  to  saying  agreeable  things. 

"  It  is  time  you  came  back,"  she  said,  handing 
Brice  the  reins.  "  Griselda  Foy  has  been  plunged  in 
gaiety  this  week.  Mrs.  Foy  is  flattered  by  the  notice 
her  daughter  has  attracted.  The  Duchess  of  Black- 
water  has  called  on  the  Foys,  and  of  course  it  was  at 
her  son's  instigation.  It  is  a  pity  you  don't  insist  on 
making  your  engagement  public." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  Brice  that  a  door  of 
escape  was  opened  to  him;  then,  suddenly  thinking  of 
Griselda,  it  was  shut  again.  Whatever  he  might  be, 
she  was  incapable  of  anything  that  was  not  true,  as 
incapable  as  he  would  have  believed  himself  to  be  six 
months  ago. 

"  What  nonsense !  "  he  said  impatiently. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Brice  ?  You  look  ill. 
I  suppose  Lady  Mary  has  kept  you  hard  at  work  with 
all  her  silly  fads  and  fancies.  Father  seems  worse, 
and  mother  is  more  anxious."  Brice  only  replied  with 
monosyllables,  and  when  he  reached  home  he  found 
the  doctor  was  upstairs,  so  solaced  himself  with  a 
cigar  till  he  came  down.  He  felt  much  worse  now, 
and  a  dim  idea  of  something  wrong  took  possession 
of  him. 

He  had  not  to  wait  long  before  he  heard  Dr. 
Spenser's  step.  Brice  asked  him  to  come  into  the 
library. 

"  Glad   to   see   you    home.      The    Admiral   wants 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  247 

cheering  up  a  little;  not  worse  really,  but — you  don't 
look  first-rate." 

"  That's  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you.  It  may  be 
nothing,  but  I  have  a  queer  sort  of  feeling  in  my 
throat."  The  doctor  examined  it  carefully,  felt  his 
pulse,  went  through  the  usual  formalities  of  the  pro- 
fession. 

"  Look  here,  this  is  serious.  Very  sorry  for  you, 
but  it's  best  you  should  know  the  truth  at  once.  This 
looks  to  me  like  diphtheria.  It  may  pass  off,  but  you 
must  go  to  bed  and  be  isolated."  Brice  smiled,  and 
lifted  his  eyebrows. 

"  Well,  doctor,  telegraph  for  a  nurse.  I  mustn't 
give  my  sister  any  more  trouble,  or  the  old  people 
needless  anxiety.  I'll  retire  into  private  life,  that's 
all." 

"  Safest  way ;  it  may  be  nothing."  The  doctor 
went  away,  thinking  in  his  own  mind  that  Brice  Leslie 
was  a  plucky  fellow ;  the  truth  being  that  Brice  was 
relieved  by  the  feeling  that,  at  all  events,  he  could 
now  put  off  the  evil  day.  He  could  see  no  one — that 
was  a  fact  he  hailed  with  relief,  even  if  the  relief  were 
attended  with  bodily  pain. 

Presently,  however,  the  bodily  overpowered  the 
mental  agony.  There  was  sorrow  and  anxiety  enough 
for  his  friends  and  relations.  Griselda,  who  came 
every  day  to  get  news,  became  visibly  thinner  and 
paler,  but  she  kept  up  bravely.  She  had  her  home 
duties  to  attend  to,  and  she  was  not  going  to  make 


248  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

others  as  miserable  as  she  was  herself.  Her  mother 
needed  much  attention  just  then,  and  her  father  was 
worried  about  his  wife.  Griselda  faced  her  duties  like 
a  brave  woman,  and  no  outsider  would  have  given  her 
credit  for  so  much  strength  of  character  and  such  firm 
purpose  as  she  now  showed. 

The  days  dragged  heavily  by,  and  it  became 
generally  known  that  Brice  Leslie  was  very  ill.  Every 
day  the  doctor's  reports  were  more  gloomy,  and  Gri- 
selda's  eyes  grew  larger ;  they  had  a  scared  look  in 
them,  as  if  something  were  going  out  of  her  life. 
Brice  might  not  talk  or  write,  she  only  had  the  daily 
news  given  to  her  in  no  comforting  vocabulary  by 
Miss  Leslie,  who  one  day  remarked — 

"Brice  is  worrying  about  something,  the  nurse 
says,  something  apparently  about  a  promised  visit  to 
a  Miss  Cuthbert.  She  acted  in  that  play.  I  dare  say 
it  is  of  no  consequence,  but  if  I  knew  her  address  I 
would  write." 

"  I  know  her,"  said  Griselda,  "  she  is  a  great  friend 
of  Lady  Mary  Milton.  I  will  get  her  address,  and,  by 
the  way,  papa  and  I  are  going  to  London  the  end  of 
this  week  to  see  about  a  new  governess  for  Evie — I 
will  call  on  Miss  Cuthbert.  She  will  know  what  Brice 
means.  Does  he  like  my  flowers  and  my  notes  ?"  she 
asked  suddenly.  "  O  Miss  Leslie !  it  seems  so  dread- 
ful not  to  see  him — not  to  be  able  to  do  anything  for 
him.  But  I  mean  to  be  brave ;  Brice  will  praise  me 
some  day  when  he  hears  of  it,  and  when  we  talk  over 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


249 


this  dreadful  time."     Griselda's  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
but  with  a  strong  effort  she  forced  them  back. 

To  herself  she  said,  "  I  feel  as  if  I  would  willingly 
take  his  place,  even  if  I  had  to  die." 


CHAPTER   XVIJ. 

GRISELDA  FOY  stood  by  the  old  carved  mantel- 
piece in  the  dining-room,  waiting  for  her  father  to 
come  down-stairs.  She  held  a  little  note  from  Miss 
Leslie  in  her  hand ;  it  contained  these  words :  "  We  are 
so  glad  you  are  kindly  going  to  call  at  Miss  Cuthbert  s 
house.  Brice  is  always  repeating  her  name  in  his  de- 
lirium, and  there  is  evidently  some  promise  weighing 
on  his  mind — so,  at  least,  the  nurse  seems  to  think. 
You  can  imagine  my  trouble ;  I  cannot  leave  my 
father,  who  is  much  worse  because  of  his  anxiety 
about  Brice,  and  the  doctor  is  fearful  of  infection. 
We  send  our  love,  and  we  know  how  you  share  our 
constant  anxiety." 

There  was  a  change  in  Griselda.  Any  one  with  an 
attentive  eye  could  have  seen  that,  though  it  was  hard 
to  define  where  the  change  lay.  The  lithe  girlish  fig- 
ure still  looked  full  of  health  and  life,  the  same  sweet 
brave  smile  still  lighted  up  the  face  when  her  own 
people  spoke  to  her  and  required  her  help — and  every- 
body did  require  Griselda's  sunshine ;  but  there  was 
something  in  the  expression  of  her  eyes  that  was 
terribly  pathetic.  The  pleading  look  of  a  deer,  or  that 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


251 


possessed  by  some  dogs,  gives  a  faint  idea  of  this  new 
expression ;  the  childlike  gaze  had  entirely  gone 
away.  Just  now,  as  she  fingered  the  note  and  re-read 
the  words,  her  pupils  dilated,  and  she  leant  her  grace- 
ful head  against  the  carved  work,  dreamily  reading 
over  the  words  of  the  old  motto  again — 

"  A  Dieu  Foy, 
Aux  amis  Foyer." 

"Brice,  Brice,"  she  murmured,  "  1A  Dieu  Foy' ;  we 
looked  at  that  together.  I  have  not  trusted  enough  ; 
I  never  expected  any  trouble ;  everything  was  sun- 
shine, and  I  thought  it  would  always  be  so,  and 
now — "  Griselda  paused,  a  dim  thought,  a  vague 
anxiety,  passed  over  her  soul  like  a  shadow  over  a 
deep  pond — an  anxiety  which  Griselda  would  not  even 
put  into  words,  so  utterly  startling  and  strange  was 
it ;  but  the  letter  in  her  hand  had  put  it  into  her  mind, 
and  almost  unconsciously  she  tore  it  into  pieces  and 
flung  it  into  the  paper-basket. 

Then  she  brushed  back  her  shining  hair  as  if  this 
action  would  drive  away  the  ideas,  and  once  more  she 
traced  out  the  motto  with  her  rosy  fingers. 

So  pure,  so  fresh,  so  graceful  and  lithe  she  looked, 
as  she  stood  there,  that  one  could  easily  imagine  a 
barbarian  falling  down  at  her  feet  to  worship  this 
goddess  come  down  among  men.  But  the  look  of 
untroubled  peace  had  fled,  the  merry  joyous  tones  no 
longer  sounded  through  the  house  :  Griselda  was 
learning  by  suffering. 


252 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


At  this  moment  she  heard  her  father's  step  in  the 
hall,  and,  hastily  seizing  a  list  of  commissions  given 
to  her  by  her  mother,  she  went  out  to  meet  him. 

"  Ready,  my  dear  ?  That's  right.  Your  mother 
seems  better.  Not  much  better  news  of  poor  Brice. 
Well,  well,  it's  too  early  to  despair." 

Griselda  suddenly  laid  her  head  upon  her  father's 
shoulder. 

"  Papa,  life  was  so  beautiful  in  New  Zealand,  and 
now — "  She  lifted  her  eyes  and  he  saw  the  dazed 
look  in  them,  it  was  as  if  the  girl  had  looked  at  some 
horrible  picture  which  had  remained  fixed  on  her  men- 
tal vision. 

"  When  Brice  gets  well,  my  dear,  we  will  let  every- 
thing become  public ;  this  concealment  is  rather  try- 
ing for  you." 

"  No,  no,  papa.  Don't  tell  any  one  of — our  en- 
gagement; it  is  much  better  as  it  is;  this — this  illness 
would  be  harder  to  bear,  if  everyone  began  to  sym- 
pathise. Papa,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything — you 
know  I  did  not,  but  just  for  a  minute  I  forgot — I  am 
so  young  and  foolish,  too  young  for  Brice,  I  am  afraid. 
But — he,  he — "  She  paused,  then,  altering  her  tone, 
"  Papa,  he  will  get  well,  he  cannot  die,  our  motto 
helps  me  so  much — 

"  '  A  Dieu  Foy, 
Aux  amis  Foyer! 

There  would  always  be  a  home  for  Brice  here,  and 
love   too,   even   if   he   did   all   sorts   of    odd   things, 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


253 


wouldn't  there?  I'm  supposing  such  queer  things, 
and  I  only  mean  that  we  Foys  have  always  been  true, 
haven't  we  ?  It's  quite  a  fault  with  us." 

Mr.  Foy  did  not  listen  very  attentively  to  all  this; 
he  knew  Griselda  was  terribly  anxious  about  her 
lover,  he  could  see  that  in  her  face.  He  knew  Brice 
was  in  great  danger,  but  he  made  the  best  of  it  to  his 
child.  She  meant,  of  course,  if  Brice  died  he  must 
not  force  her  to  marry  another;  but  time  would  settle 
all  that — time,  that  softens  so  many  things.  At  this 
moment,  a  day  in  London  he  thought  would  change 
her  gloomy  ideas. 

"  Yes,  dear,  we  are  an  obstinate  race.  I  believe 
there  is  no  fear  of  a  Foy  giving  up  his  faith  or  his 
friend.  Now,  come,  we  must  not  be  late." 

All  the  way  to  town  Griselda  held  an  envelope  in 
her  hand,  on  which  Lady  Mary  had  written  Miss 
Cuthbert's  address.  Lady  Mary  had  sent  a  kind  let- 
ter to  Griselda,  saying  she  was  extremely  sorry  to 
hear  of  Mr.  Leslie's  dangerous  illness,  and  that  if  she, 
Griselda,  happened  to  be  near  Wilton  Crescent  she 
was  sure  Miss  Cuthbert  would  much  like  to  hear  all 
the  latest  particulars  she  knew  about  him.  Lady  Mary 
was  prudent ;  she  said  no  more,  but  she  wondered  if 
Griselda  Foy  would  understand. 

When  their  business  was  done,  Griselda  was  ready 
with  her  request. 

"  Papa,  I  want  to  go  and  see  Miss  Cuthbert ;  I  met 
her  at  Lady  Mary  Milton's,  and it  won't  interest 


254 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


you  to  come.  We  can  meet  at  the  station ;  I  will  take 
a  cab." 

Mr.  Foy  was  surprised,  for  it  was  very  strange  for 
Griselda  to  take  a  fancy  for  strangers;  however,  he 
was  not  a  man  to  object. 

"Very  well.  I'll  go  to  my  club  and  meet  you 
again  at  Waterloo.  Don't  be  late." 

She  smiled  her  answer,  and  half  an  hour  later  she 
was  ringing  the  bell  at  Miss  Cuthbert's  house  in  Wil- 
ton Crescent.  Griselda's  heart  beat  fast,  her  colour 
came  and  went,  her  hand  trembled ;  suppose  Miss 
Cuthbert  should  not  be  there  ;  suppose — 

Miss  Cuthbert  was  at  home,  and  Griselda  sent  up 
her  card,  and  was  soon  shown  into  a  drawing-room 
with  folding-doors  thrown  open.  The  room  was 
empty,  and  Griselda  sitting  down  with  her  back  to  the 
window  had  time  to  admire  the  exquisite  taste  of 
everything  in  it.  It  was  not  filled  like  a  curiosity- 
shop  with  endless  varieties  of  knicknacks,  china  of 
all  dates,  ornaments  of  no  date,  furniture  of  Queen 
Anne's  time  as  imitated  in  the  days  of  Queen  Vic- 
toria; but  there  was  a  rich  simplicity  about  every- 
thing, a  unity  of  idea,  a  harmony  of  colour ;  there 
was  what,  for  want  of  a  better  expression,  we 
might  call  "  a  classic  reserve "  in  everything.  The 
books,  too,  indicated  a  taste  both  choice  and  wide, 
and  the  prints  were  rare.  There  were  beautiful 
modern  water-colours  and  one  oil  picture  in  a  cor- 
ner. Griselda  could  see  it  was  good,  though  she 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY.  255 

did    not    know    enough    to   tell    that   it   was   a   Gu- 
ercino. 

"  This  is  exactly  how  a  modern  room  ought  to  be 
furnished,"  thought  Griselda,  knowing  it  was  right, 
though  not  knowing  why.  "It  is  just  the  house  she 
ought  to  live  in ;  everything  is  perfect,  fit  for  her. 
No  wonder — " 

There  was  a  long  sweep  of  softest  drapery,  and 
Magdalen  herself  opened  the  door.  Griselda  noted 
that  the  owner  of  the  house  did  indeed  match  the 
room ;  she  had  on  an  exquisite  grey  silk  tea-gown 
which  softened  all  that  was  hard  in  her  face. 

Griselda  for  a  moment  became  conscious  that  she 
herself  was  dressed  in  a  simple  blue  print,  and  that  her 
gloves  were  soiled ;  then  she  forgot  all  these  minor 
defects  in  sudden  admiration  of  Magdalen.  Her  heart 
seemed  to  beat  so  violently  that  she  could  not  speak 
at  first,  and  there  rose  before  her  mind's  eye  the  vision 
of  the  paper-basket  where  Miss  Leslie's  note  lay  torn 
into  small  pieces. 

Then,  looking  up  again  quickly,  the  young  girl 
noted  a  strange  expression  on  Miss  Cuthbert's  face; 
she  saw  that  she  looked  pale  and  worn,  that  her  face 
had  a  thin,  pinched  look,  and  that  her  dazzling  beauty 
seemed  half  veiled.  Six  months  ago  Griselda  could 
not  have  told  that  these  signs  denoted  mental  suffer- 
ing, now  she  immediately  drew  this  conclusion — 
"  Miss  Cuthbert  is  anxious  about  something  or  some- 
body." Again  her  tongue  seemed  to  be  paralysed, 


256  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

and   it  was  without   a   word   that   she  held  out   her 
hand. 

"I  did  not  expect  to  see  you,"  said  Magdalen 
quietly,  though  her  tone  expressed  no  surprise,  "  but 
perhaps  you  have  come  in  by  chance.  Are  you  stay- 
ing in  London?" 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  I  could  not  do  that  when — do  you 
know  ? — Mr.  Leslie  is  so  dangerously  ill — and — they 
let  him  see  no  one ;  diphtheria  is  so  catching,  and  oh  ! 
it  is  such  a  terrible  disease.  Indeed,  even  if  he  gets 
better  they  will  not  let  any  one — not  me  even — see 
him  for  a  long  time." 

Miss  Cuthbert  had  looked  at  her  with  her  won- 
drous strange  blue  eyes  as  she  spoke,  and  then  with- 
out saying  a  word  seemed  to  motion  her  to  sit  down ; 
but  this  time  she,  Magdalen,  took  her  place  with  her 
back  to  the  light  and  motioned  Griselda  to  a  chair  op- 
posite, where  all  the  autumn  glow  fell  on  her  face  and 
made  visible  every  varying  expression.  There  was  no 
need  of  such  strong  light,  however,  to  see  the  altera- 
tion in  the  girl's  face.  What  had  been  like  a  ray  of 
pure  sunshine  seemed  now  touched  with  the  cold  fin- 
ger of  despair,  lightly  touched  perhaps,  but  she  had 
felt  the  first  chill  of  it.  Mechanically  Magdalen  re- 
peated to  herself,  "  She  is  a  child,  she  would  love  any- 
body. She  will  forget  him — just  now,  of  course,  she 
is  troubled ;  but — " 

"  It  is  a  dreadful  thing,"  she  said  quietly,  and  her 
tone  sounded  strangely  calm  and  cold  when  compared 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


257 


with  Griselda's  accent  of  acute  pain,  "but  you  need 
not  conclude  that — the  worst  results  will  follow,  Miss 
Foy." 

Griselda  leant  her  head  on  her  hand,  and  this  ac- 
tion, the  action  of  an  older  person,  gave  something 
pathetic  to  the  whole  girlish  figure.  There  was  a 
pause — Griselda  was  evidently  thinking  deeply,  and 
then  rising  quickly  she  made  a  few  steps  towards 
Magdalen ;  but  the  cold,  immovable,  imperturbable 
figure  appeared  to  stop  her,  as  if  the  elder  woman's 
stronger  will  had  bidden  her  not  to  approach  her. 
Griselda  sank  down  on  her  chair  again. 

"  Please  forgive  me  for  being  so — so  stupid  and 
restless.  I  don't  know  how  I  have  got  through  this 
second  week  of  it.  I  try  never  to  remain  idle  for  a 
moment;  I  dare  not  think.  Miss  Cuthbert,  you  know 
him,  that  is  why  I  have  come  here — no — it  was  another 
reason  as  well."  Griselda  clasped  her  hands  round 
her  knees  and  bent  forward  a  little,  but  that  beau- 
tiful woman  opposite  to  her  remained  cold  and  im- 
passive ;  it  seemed  as  if  Griselda  were  talking  to 
a  person  utterly  indifferent  to  her  words  and  her 
grief. 

"  Indeed — what  other  reason  ?  " 

"  I  knew  you  would  like  to  hear  about  him — any 
one  who  knows  Brice  really,  must  care  to  hear — and 
besides — "  The  rest  of  the  sentence  seemed  to  stick 
in  her  throat ;  her  lips  refused  to  utter  it. 

"Besides?" 


258 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


"  Besides,  he  is  always  speaking  about  you,  asking 
for  you — " 

Magdalen  actually  felt  her  colour  rising,  knew  her 
hand  trembled ;  only  she  pressed  it  firmly  against  her 
knee,  and  pretended  to  pick  out  a  little  loose  thread 
from  her  gown. 

"  This  is  what  is  reported  to  you,"  she  said,  and 
laughed  her  short,  strange  laugh,  "but  as  you  have 
not  seen  him,  most  likely  he  merely  mentioned  my 
name  once.  The  play  probably  stuck  in  his  memory." 

"That  is  true,  it  is  only  what  they  tell  me."  Then 
she  put  her  hand  wearily  on  her  forehead,  leaning 
her  elbow  on  the  Chippendale  table.  "  No,  they  said 
something  else — about  some  promise.  I  daresay  you 
can  explain." 

"Explain  the  wanderings  of  fever;  indeed,  that  is 
beyond  my  power,  Miss  Foy.  You  give  me  credit  for 
more  talent  than  falls  to  my  share." 

"Then  is  it  nothing? — cannot  you  understand, 
cannot  you  send  him  a  message  that  will — ease  his 
mind,  comfort  him  ?  People  do  understand — I've 
heard  our  doctor  say  it — even  when  they  appear  to 
be  quite  light-headed.  If  you  were  to  say  it  was  all 
right,  or  that  you  did  not  want  to  know  any  more,  or 
anything,  Brice  might  be  comforted." 

"  It  is  very  unlikely,"  said  Magdalen  slowly. 
"  Had  we  not  better  let  the  doctor  and  the  nurse 
manage  their  patient  in  their  own  way  ? " 

"Oh!"  gasped  Griselda,  "you  do  not  know — you 


A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY. 


259 


cannot  surely  understand  about — me — and  him  ?  I 
thought  that  night  when  we  saw  you  near  the  fountain 
at  Rosehill  that  you  knew  I  was — that  we  were  lovers. 
If  not,  I  should  not  have  dared  to  come  here,  just  to — 
talk  about  him;  but  you,  except  our  own  people,  are 
the  only  person  who  knows  our  secret,  and — I — may  I 
say  it,  Miss  Cuthbert  ? — I  couldn't  help  liking  you  the 
first  time  I  saw  you."  Griselda  blushed  as  she  made 
this  remark.  There  was  something  so  trusting  in  her 
words,  in  her  tone,  that  Magdalen  in  spite  of  herself 
was  touched,  although  she  argued  proudly  that  the 
admiration  of  a  girl  so  young  and  so  simple  was 
utterly  valueless  to  her. 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you,  Miss  Foy,"  she  said. 
Though  the  words  sounded  slightly  ironical,  Magdalen 
did  not  imagine  for  a  moment  that  Griselda  would 
hear  or  recognise  her  tone,  but  to  her  surprise  she 
appeared  to  do  so,  for  she  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked 
at  Magdalen  reproachfully,  though  she  said  nothing 
about  the  irony. 

"  Don't  call  me  Miss  Foy.  Everybody  calls  me 
Griselda.  Near  you  I  feel  so  young  and  so  ignorant. 
You  are  so  clever,  and — I  may  say,  mayn't  I  ? — so 
beautiful,  that  I  don't  wonder  everyone  admires  you. 
I  should  never  have  had  the  courage  to  come  here,  if 
— if — it  hadn't  been  for  Brice's  sake.  I  wish  I  could 
explain  myself  about  him.  You  don't  know  how  much 
I  love  him ;  I  can't  explain  it  to  myself  even  ;  it  began 
when  I  was  a  child.  He  used  to  come  and  stay  with 


26o  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

us  for  a  few  weeks  at  a  time  between  his  journeys 
into  the  interior ;  I  think  I  learnt  to  know  all  his 
thoughts  almost,  and  yet  I  remained  just  my  stupid 
self  as  well.  Is  that  foolish  ?'* 

Magdalen  lay  back  in  the  arm-chair  half  wearily, 
as  if  all  this  naive  confession  bored  her  slightly. 

"  Everybody  is  influenced  in  a  different  way,  I 
believe." 

"You  can  explain  all  that,  I  know,  but  I  can't;  I 
only  know  that  I  love  him — that  my  feeling  is  quite 
apart  from  his — caring  about  me;  that  I  think  of  his 
happiness  before  my  own.  Oh,  I'm  sure  I  do !  " 

"We  are  apt  to  think  that  till  we  are  tried." 
Magdalen's  tone  was  more  interested  now.  This  sim- 
ple girl,  after  all,  was  not  quite  colourless,  not  merely 
an  easily-influenced  individual,  who  could  be  acted 
upon  by  any  outside  force  stronger  than  herself. 
"But  the  truth  is,  our  deepest  feelings  centre  round  an 
invariable  nucleus  of  self." 

"  You  say  so,  clever  people  say  so,  I  suppose,  but  it 
isn't  really  always  true;  it  isn't  true  with  me.  If  it 
were  to  make  Brice  happy  I  would — "  Griselda 
paused,  and  suddenly  Magdalen  lost  the  feeling  that 
she  was  talking  to  a  child,  or  that  a  child  was  talking 
to  her;  she  bent  forward  and  looked  at  her  as  if  she 
would  find  the  flaw  in  this  young  soul,  which  from  its 
very  purity  and  simplicity  seemed  so  strong  that  Mag- 
dalen's passionate  nature  was  touched,  nay,  even  sur- 
prised out  of  herself. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  26l 

"  Yes,  there  is  the  test ;  in  reality  how  little  you 
would  do  !  Would  you — let  me  paint  an  imaginary 
picture — would  you  let  another  woman  take  his  love 
from  you  ?  would  you  let  her  by  the  strength  of  her — 
passion — forgive  me  the  word  (you  are  almost  too 
young  to  understand  it) — turn  his  pure  deep  affection 
into  a  burdensome  weight  ?  would  you  allow  her  to  crush 
his  manhood  till  he  gave  up  the  struggle,  and  perhaps  in 
the  far  future  lived  to  repent  ?  I  have  seen  that  done." 

Griselda's  soft  rounded  cheeks  were  covered  with 
deep  blushes,  as  Magdalen,  in  a  quick  passionate  utter- 
ance, painted  her  picture.  It  was  as  if  she  had  taken 
that  girl's  soul  in  her  hands  and  forced  it  to  bear  the 
pressure  of  suffering  humanity,  but  in  the  process  the 
innate  purity  of  Griselda's  being  felt  the  scorching, 
blasting  power  of  the  world's  cruelty. 

"  Yes,  I  would,"  she  said  quietly,  though  as  she 
spoke  the  tears  fell  slowly  down  her  cheek.  "  I  love 
him  so  much  that  I  would  give  up  everything  for  him, 
and  I  should  feel  that  in  doing  this  I  should  still  keep 
the  best  part  of  him,  the  part  that  trusted  me  and  be- 
lieved I  would  do  everything  for  his  happiness  and 
not  for  my  own." 

There  was  a  pause  and  a  deep  silence,  a  silence  that v 
seemed  more  terrible  than  the  most  awful  storm.  The 
old  square  highly-chased  clock  on  the  chimney-piece 
ticked  aloud,  marking  time  that  was  flying  in  its  inex- 
orable, invariable,  proportion.  Magdalen  looked  at 
the  girl  before  her,  and  a  strange  new  feeling  of  sur- 


262  A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY. 

prise  came  over  her.  It  was  something  new,  some- 
thing she  could  not  fathom,  something  which — with 
her  many-sided  character,  where  self  was  the  centre 
facet  of  every  rose — she  had  not  before  believed  pos- 
sible ;  even  now  she  doubted,  doubted  because  doubt 
was  so  easy  to  her,  because,  much  as  she  believed  in 
abstract  generosity,  abstract  nobility,  abstract  self-re- 
nunciation, she  was  utterly  sceptical  about  the  reality 
of  them  in  the  conduct  of  woman  or  of  man.  She  had 
the  feeling  expressed  by  Satan  in  the  poem  of  Job  : 
"  Doth  Job  fear  God  for  nought  ?  .  .  but  put  forth 
Thine  hand  now,  and  touch  all  that  he  hath,  and  he 
will  curse  Thee  to  Thy  face."  Either  Griselda  Foy 
did  not  love  Brice,  as  Magdalen  understood  love,  or 
she  herself  was  incapable  of  understanding  this  creed 
— an  emblem,  if  true,  of  God-like  unselfishness.  But 
if  she,  Magdalen,  were  wrong?  If — the  very  thought 
humbled  her,  but  she  was  not  conquered  yet,  not  con- 
vinced, for  doubt  is  as  strong  as  faith ;  if  the  latter 
works  miracles,  the  former  will  destroy  strong  and  ap- 
parently impregnable  fortresses.  Magdalen  heaved  a 
little  sigh ;  it  came  from  the  depth  of  a  heart  that  had 
been  wounded  in  many  a  fight,  that  had  striven  in 
vain  to  find  peace,  and  that  now,  on  the  threshold  of 
so-called  happiness,  was  stopped  by  an  obstruction  so 
slight,  so  despised,  that  she  looked  down  upon  it  in 
mute  surprise. 

Suddenly  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  stood  up  be- 
fore Griselda  in  all  her  womanly  beauty.     Everything 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  263 

about  her  was  made  to  dazzle ;  she  delighted  in  the 
sight  of  it  herself,  and  not  only  for  the  effect  it  might 
have  on  others.  If  she  were  made  up  of  powerful  con- 
tradictions, she  was,  through  the  same  contradictions, 
capable  of  surprising  herself  and  others.  Griselda 
also  stood  up,  she  felt  time  was  slipping  away,  she 
must  not  miss  her  train  ;  but  she  had  not  yet  accom- 
plished her  purpose. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  she  said  simply,  so  simply  that  it 
seemed  impossible  to  believe  she  had  spoken  just  now 
above  herself,  above  poor  human  nature ;  "  but  we 
were  forgetting,  Miss  Cuthbert — I  came  here  to  get  a 
message  for  Brice.  It  may  be  just  what  he  wants  to — 
to  ease  his  mind." 

Magdalen  came  close  to  Griselda  ;  tall  as  was  this 
latter,  Magdalen  was  a  little  taller,  and  not  slight  nor 
lithe.  In  that  moment  of  contact,  when  Magdalen's 
soft  silk  touched  with  lightest  rustle  Griselda's  blue 
cotton,  there  came  over  the  elder  woman,  the  woman  of 
the  world,  a  feeling  belonging  as  it  seemed  to  some  for- 
mer state  of  existence  perhaps,  some  former  con- 
sciousness of  other  worlds  where  she  had  been  a 
mother,  where  a  child's  innocent  lips  had  touched  hers, 
and  a  child's  fair  curls  had  lain  on  her  bosom.  Without 
a  word  she  put  her  strong  arm  round  Griselda,  and  drew 
down  the  girl's  head  on  her  shoulder.  "  Poor  child," 
she  said  softly,  "  you  love  him  very  much,  you  will 
make  him  happy,  you  must."  Griselda's  self-control 
almost  gave  way,  there  was  a  little  sob  heard  mingling 


264  A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 

with  the  ticking  of  the  clock.  "  I — I  would  give  my 
life  for  his." 

"  Hush,  child,  you  need  not  do  that — believe  me 
— you  will  be  happy  yet.  He  will  get  well ;  Griselda, 
kiss  me,  child ;  I  think  that — I — who  believe  in  so 
little,  I  must  believe  in  you.  Now  go — I  will  send 
Mr.  Leslie  a  message — soon." 

With  a  little  cry  of  happiness  Griselda  flung  her 
arms  round  Magdalen's  neck.  "  I  love  you,  Miss 
Cuthbert — always — whatever  you  do,  because —  No, 
that  sentence  could  not  be,  never  was  finished. 

An  hour  later  Magdalen  still  sat  there  like  some 
sphinx  of  the  desert,  some  grand  unearthly  Greek 
goddess.  Her  bosom  heaved  as  if  life  were  slowly 
ebbing  away,  as  if  she  had  detached  herself  from  all 
that  was  human,  all  that  made  life  worth  having ;  she 
seemed  to  be  looking  into  the  future  as  she  gazed 
fixedly  into  vacancy ;  dim  spectres  seemed  to  come 
and  go  before  her,  strange  shapes  conjured  up  from 
past  dreams  of  youthful  delight  ;  she  felt  this  whole 
world  of  spirits  was  fighting  against  her  and  she 
against  them ;  and,  more  distinct  than  any  of  them, 
rose  the  image  of  Brice  Leslie — but  Brice  Leslie  in  the 
future,  the  man  who  might  some  day  reproach  her  for 
that  which  he  now  craved  for ;  then,  in  a  golden  back- 
ground of  pure  light,  Griselda  appeared,  and  at  the 
end  of  all  Magdalen  rose  and  lifted  her  arms  high 
above  her  and  clasped  them  over  her  head.  "  She 
loves,"  she  said,  "  but  perhaps  I  have  never  loved 
before.  Suppose  I — I Is  it  possible  ? " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THIS  evening  Magdalen  could  not  think  uninter- 
ruptedly about  herself  ;  that  was  doubtless  a  blessing, 
a  great  blessing  in  her  present  frame  of  mind.  Mrs. 
Stewart  was  ill  and  was  a  little  exacting  about  atten- 
tion and  attentions.  Miss  Cuthbert  was  not  a  good 
nurse ;  she  had  always  enjoyed  splendid  health,  and 
looked  upon  the  many  weak  beings  of  the  world  with 
a  sort  of  dumb  pity  which  was  not  at  all  akin  to  love. 
She  had  very  right  ideas  about  health,  thinking  it  was 
a  greater  title  of  honour  than  nervous  or  sentimental 
weakness;  but  when  she  set  herself  to  nurse  Mrs. 
Stewart,  she  did  it  with  all  her  might.  Thoroughness 
had  a  charm  for  Magdalen,  that  is,  as  long  as  the  in- 
clination to  do  the  thing  lasted. 

Her  old  friend's  bell  made  her  suddenly  remember 
her  long  absence  from  her  bedside,  and  she  walked  to 
the  glass  and  rearranged  her  hair;  this  little  touch  of 
vanity  was  very  characteristic  of  Magdalen.  She 
would  not  have  liked  even  Mrs.  Stewart  to  have  seen 
an  unlovely  line  about  her  ;  it  was  this  fastidiousness 
about  her  appearance  that  had  led  spiteful  tongues — 
especially  women's  tongues — to  say  that  Miss  Cuthbert 
was  always  posing;  to  such  an  accusation  Lady  Mary 


266  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

had  once  answered,  "  Oh,  there  is  posing  and  posing. 
Magdalen's  posing  is  born  of  a  fine  sense  of  fitness 
and  artistic  feeling ;  in  that  sense  everyone  ought  to 
pose,  it  is  their  duty."  Whereupon  a  plain  spinster 
had  answered  that  Lady  Mary  would  be  sure  to  de- 
fend all  Miss  Cuthbert's  actions,  even  if  she  committed 
murder.  "  Well,  of  course,"  answered  the  incorrigible 
champion,  "  if  she  committed  a  murder,  it  would  be  a 
fine  crime,  there  would  be  something  worth  studying 
in  the  details."  What  is  the  use  of  arguing  with  an 
advocate  who  is  not  ashamed  to  bring  forward  such  a 
defence  ? 

"  What  a  long  visit  some  one  paid  you,  Magdalen  ! 
I  want  my  tea.  Did  they  stay  all  that  time  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Stewart. 

"  No,  dear,  I  am  sorry  ;  I  have  been — dreaming 
of  plans — and  I  forgot  everything  else." 

"  That  is  very  unlike  you ;  I  have  noticed  a  change 
in  you  lately,  let  me  look  at  you." 

"  I  don't  think  my  health  need  make  any  one 
anxious,"  said  Magdalen,  laughing. 

"  But  you  trifle  with  it  dreadfully,  sooner  or  later 
you  must  pay  for  such  imprudence." 

Mrs.  Stewart  was  always  happy  when  she  was 
slightly  indisposed,  and  happier  if  she  could  make  her- 
self believe  that  Magdalen  had  a  mysterious  malady 
which,  though  it  gave  no  outward  sign  whatever, 
would,  like  a  so-called  extinct  volcano,  some  day 
burst  forth  when  least  expected. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


267 


"  I  am  well,  quite  well ;  I  will  give  you  full  warn- 
ing when  I  feel  a  serious  illness  approaching."  Mag- 
dalen rang  the  bell  for  tea,  then  sat  down  by  the 
invalid's  sofa.  She  was  still  absent-minded,  however, 
but  she  took  up  a  piece  of  silk  embroidery  and 
stitched  diligently  to  hide  her  strange  silence.  At 
last,  forcing  herself  to  speak,  she  added — 

"It  was  Miss  Foy  who  came;  I  told  you  about 
her.  She  is  the  girl  who  was  thrown  from  her  horse 
and  was  brought  in  to  Rosehill  by  Mr.  Leslie.  It  was 
quite  a  romantic  little  episode." 

"  Why  did  she  corrie  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  she  admires  me,  I  think,  but  she  is 
almost  a  child ;  one  half  expects  to  see  her  in  short 
frocks.  However,  she  is  pretty,  very  pretty.  She 
made  quite  a  sensation  at  Lady  Mary's  party." 

"  It  is  all  through  me  that  you  have  come  back  to 
this  dull  place,  dear  Magdalen.  You  have  so  many 
invitations,  won't  you  accept  one  of  them  and  leave 
me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Stewart  only  half  meant  her  unselfish  speech, 
but  in  that  she  resembled  many  another  speaker. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  really  like  it.  London  has  a 
strange  fascination  for  me  now  that  one  meets  no 
one.  It  seems  to  make  life  a  little  more  real ;  but  I 
was  going  to  say,  dear,  that  I  want  to  go  and  spend  a 
day  in  the  country  soon,  not  far  off,  in  Lady  Mary's 
neighbourhood.  I  can  come  back  in  the  evening,  or 
at  least  the  next  morning,  as  I  may  sleep  at  Rosehill. 


268  A  WOMAN   OF  FORTY. 

You  won't  mind  ?  Andrews  will  look  after  you,  I 
know,  better  than  I  can  do." 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  Magdalen ;  I 
wish — yes,  with  all  my  heart,  that  you  could  make  up 
you  mind  to — give  some  one  else  the  right  to— to 
love  you." 

Magdalen  frowned.  Mrs.  Stewart  must  indeed  be 
presuming  on  her  indisposition  to  dare  to  say  this  to 
her. 

"  We  agreed  long  ago  to  respect  each  other's  pri- 
vate affairs,"  she  said,  a  little  haughtily.  Then  a  maid 
came  in  with  a  dainty  tea-service,  and  that  happy  meal 
brought  another  turn  to  the  dangerous  conversation. 

When  she  retired  to  her  room  that  evening,  and 
after  her  beautiful  hair  had  been  brushed,  Magdalen 
dismissed  her  maid,  saying  she  wanted  nothing  more  ; 
then  a  very  strange  thing  took  place.  She  went  to 
her  wardrobe  and  looked  over  a  somewhat  large 
assortment  of  dresses  and  mantles,  and  choosing  the 
simplest  black  silk  skirt  she  could  find  she  put  it  on 
and  dressed  herself  entirely  as  if  she  were  going  out 
of  doors.  She  even  put  on  her  hat  and  the  simple 
cloak  adorned  with  soft  real  lace.  The  hat,  though  of 
plain  black  straw,  was  perfect  in  shape  and  trimmed 
with  handsome  black  ostrich  feathers;  when  fully 
dressed,  she  lighted  two  more  wax  candles,  and  by  the 
increased  light  examined  herself  attentively  in  the 
glass.  She  had  no  ornaments  except  one  simple 
crystal  locket  set  round  with  diamonds.  The  locket 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  269 

was  meant  to  contain  hair,  but  it  had  nothing  in  it 
now.  Evidently  the  effect  was  satisfactory,  for  Mag- 
dalen smiled  with  pleasure  and  then  laughed  a  little 
ironically  at  herself  for  being  able  to  care.  This  done 
she  took  off  the  out-door  garments,  wrapped  herself 
in  a  dressing-gown  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down 
the  room. 

"  I  must  go  to-morrow,"  she  said  at  last,  aloud,  "  I 
must.  My  courage  will  only  hold  out  just  long 
enough  ;  who  knows  even  if  it  will  hold  out  as  long 
as  that !  Is  it  really  I  who  am  going  to  do  this  ?  I 
can't  believe  it — and  afterwards  ?  Afterwards  ?  after- 
wards— is  there  any  afterwards  ?  What  is  it  that 
splendid  dreamer,  Leconte  de  Lisle,  says  ? "  She 
paused  before  a  bookshelf  of  foreign  books  and  took 
down  a  volume  of  poems,  entitled  Polities  Tragiques  ; 
her  long  supple  fingers  turned  its  pages  swiftly  over 
till  she  found  the  verse  she  remembered,  under  the 
title  of  "  L'lllusion  supreme  " : 

"  Tout  cela  Jeunesse,  amour,  joie  et  pensee, 
Chante  de  la  mer  et  les  forets,  souffle  du  ciel ; 
Emportant  a  plein  vol  I'esp^rance  insensee, 
Qu'est-ce  que  tout  cela,  qui  n'est  pas  eternel  ?  " 

She  put  back  the  volume  and  took  down  another 
— evidently  this  poet  was  a  favourite  of  hers,  and 
the  next  lines  she  found  had  previously  been  marked: 

"  Et  toi,  divine  Mort,  ou  tout  rentre  et  s'efface, 
Accueille  tes  enfants  dans  ton  sein  etoile  ; 
Affranchis-nous  du  temps,  du  nombre  et  de  1'espace, 
Et  rends-nous  le  repos  que  la  vie  a  troubled" 


2/O 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


"  He  believes  in  a  happy  previous  state  of  exist- 
ence as  well  as  in  the  after  Nirvana,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  and  I — I — don't  know  what  to  believe !  But  the 
present,  the  present  is  one's  own ;  at  all  events,  one 
can  act  in  this  life." 

Then  the  image  of  Griselda  Foy  forced  itself  again 
on  her  mind.  "  How  simple  she  is,  and  yet  she  is  such 
a  riddle.  I  believe  she  spoke  the  truth.  Can  I  believe 
that?  Yes,  I  do,  I  do — I  will  not  doubt  it.  Once, 
when  I  first  knew  Percy,  I  too — no,  I  was  never  like 
that,  but  I  too  could  believe  as  she  does.  But  then  to 
have  felt  faith  in  man,  in  God,  in  everything  slipping 
away,  loosening  itself  insensibly  from  one's  grasp, 
one's  heart,  one's  brain — that  was  dreadful,  but  was  it 
worse  than  this  ?" 

Magdalen  put  back  her  poet  on  the  shelf  and  went 
to  open  her  window.  It  was  chilly  now,  the  night  was 
cold,  and  she  shivered.  The  strength  of  her  fierce 
struggles  had  exhausted  her,  and  soon  closing  the  win- 
dow she  went  to  bed.  As  she  lay  there  in  the  dark- 
ness some  old  familiar  words  floated  through  her 
brain  ;  it  was  long  since  she  had  thought  of  them  or 
used  them,  but  now  they  seemed  to  come  unbidden  to 
her  memory :  "  I  will  arise,  and  go  to  my  Father. "- 
"  No,"  she  said  aloud,  "  no,  to — to — Brice  !  O  Brice  !  is 
it  because  I  love  you,  or  because  I  think  I  love  you  ?" 

Then  very  soon  a  soft  unconsciousness  drew  a 
merciful  veil  over  her  brain,  and  in  spite  of  all  anxiety 
Magdalen  Cuthbert  fell  fast  asleep. 


A   WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 


271 


A  good  many  miles  away  from  Wilton  Crescent  there 
was  another  watcher,  another  whose  physical  weakness 
at  times  clouded  his  intellect  and  at  times  abnormally 
sharpened  his  perceptions,  till  the  keen  vibrations  of 
thought  caused  a  new  agony  never  before  experienced 
by  the  sick  man.  Brice  Leslie  could,  at  times,  see 
and  rehearse  the  past  so  plainly,  that  it  seemed  to  him 
impossible  to  believe  that  he  was  not  in  truth  reacting 
it.  The  human  brain  is  so  delicately  balanced  that 
one  is  tempted  to  imagine  that  a  perfectly  sane,  well- 
balanced  cellular  brain  department  must  belong  only 
to  a  very  few  of  the  human  race.  Sometimes  one  is 
even  inclined  to  think  that  any  great  talent,  any  great 
emotion,  any  trace  of  genius,  is  the  result  of  some  de- 
rangement of  the  brain  cellules,  some  dimly  explained 
or  unexplainable  disturbance  of  the  grey  matter, 
where  scientific  philosophers  lodge  our  intellectual 
activity  and  our  active  emotions.  This  idea  helps  one 
to  realise  the  repugnance  with  which  some  natures 
view  all  passion,  all  that  passes  the  boundary  of  the 
ordinary.  There  may  be,  in  fact,  as  direct  a  satisfac- 
tion in  contemplating  the  commonplace  as  there  is 
in  looking  at  a  person  in  rude  health,  a  feeling 
which  can  hardly  be  explained  to  any  one  who,  on 
the  contrary,  craves  for  what  is  extraordinary  and  un- 
balanced. The  first  could  echo  the  words  of  the 
French  poet — 

"  Je  hais  la  passion  et  1'esprit  me  fait  mal 

Aimons-nous  doucement." 
18 


272 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


The  other,  in  his  lassitude  of  all  emotions  and  finding 
none  that  could  sufficiently  move  him,  could  exclaim, 
with  another  famous  Frenchman — 

"  Je  suis  venu  trop  tard  dans  un  monde  trop  vieux." 

Strangely  enough,  Brice  Leslie,  as  he  lay  on  his 
sick-bed,  left  from  unavoidable  circumstances  en- 
tirely alone,  except  for  his  professional  nurse — a 
woman  whose  excellent  training  had  taken  away  all 
her  natural  art  of  nursing  and  sympathy — was  pur- 
sued alternately  by  these  two  extremes.  Sometimes 
he  looked  back  with  intense  longing  to  the  mental 
calm  of  his  New  Zealand  life,  to  the  happy,  almost 
unemotional,  experience  during  the  long  growth  of  his 
love  for  Griselda  Foy.  At  other  times  all  these 
thoughts  were  hurled  away  in  a  mad  tumult  of  pas- 
sionate regrets,  passionate  longings  for  the  sight  of 
Magdalen.  Then,  too,  he  experienced  a  deep  anguish 
that  he  had  not  cast  all  consideration  to  the  winds, 
and  that  he  had  not  taken  advantage  of  the  present, 
the  time  when,  in  a  supremely  happy  moment  for  him, 
she  had  said,  looking  at  him,  with  those  deep  blue 
eyes,  where  happiness  seemed  to  be  rekindled  from 
long-smouldering  ashes,  "  Forgive  me,  Brice." 

Then  the  passionate  longing  would  at  times  sud- 
denly cool  down.  Any  long  strain  of  emotional 
thought  is  apt  to  extinguish  its  own  fire,  and  requires 
a  new  energy  to  rekindle  it,  obeying  some  hidden  law, 
some  unknown  boundaries  which  have  been  set  to 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


2/3 


human  sensations  in  order  to  protect  them  from  them- 
selves. At  such  moments  Brice  felt  distinctly  that  he 
did  not  wish  to  see  Magdalen  Cuthbert  again,  that  she 
had  cast  over  him  a  spell  against  which  his  higher 
nature  rebelled,  a  nature  which  in  him  would  surely 
reassert  itself.  If  she  prevailed,  blight  would  inevita- 
bly follow,  the  blight  of  all  strong  purpose,  the  blight 
of  all  high  ideals,  whether  of  religious,  physical,  or  in- 
tellectual work,  without  which  a  man  cannot  live, 
though  a  woman  may  be  able  to  exist.  Man  cannot 
sustain  his  mental  energy  by  love  alone ;  the  very 
durability  of  his  race  demands  more  from  him,  and  by 
a  saddened  satiety  provides  the  antidote  against  a 
moral  decadence.  But  these  thoughts,  though  true 
and  founded  on  an  innate  creed,  were  succeeded  by 
others,  and  in  these  he  accused  himself  of  being  un- 
true to  every  high  ideal  and  honourable  feeling.  He 
despised  himself  for  being  false,  yet  at  the  same  time 
knowing  he  was  incapable  of  determining  his  future 
course  of  action.  After  this  came  a  period  of  still 
more  severe  bodily  suffering,  causing  a  partial  cessa- 
tion of  brain  activity.  In  his  unconscious  moments 
he  felt  himself  pursued  by  the  one  idea  of  wishing  to 
see  Magdalen,  of  wishing  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  come 
back  to  her ;  whilst,  in  his  periods  of  perfect  con- 
sciousness, he  experienced  an  intense  feeling  of  quiet 
peace  when  Griselda's  little  notes  of  friendship  (as  the 
nurse  read  them  aloud  to  him,  Griselda  could  say  very 
little  but  the  kind  commonplace)  were  daily  brought 


274  A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 

into  his  room.  At  first  he  had  turned  his  head  toward 
the  door  every  time  it  opened,  expecting  a  letter 
from  Magdalen,  some  line  of  sympathy,  some  words 
beneath  which  he  could  read  love  ;  but  then  he  had 
argued  that  of  course  this  was  impossible  for  her,  it 
would  be  too  dangerous.  After  settling  this  Brice  re- 
lapsed into  varying  feelings,  among  which  was  one  of 
suppressed  rage  at  the  illness  itself.  This  time  of 
waiting,  of  uncertainty,  was  what  he  had  never  fore- 
seen, and  brave  as  he  was  outwardly,  never  letting  a 
murmur  escape  him,  he  was  prolonging  his  pain  and 
increasing  his  danger  by  his  mental  anxiety. 

His  father's  illness  was  at  this  time  increased  by 
the  anxiety  he  felt  for  his  son,  and  Mrs.  Leslie  and 
her  daughter  were  kept  in  close  attendance  on  the 
chronic  invalid.  Infection  was  of  course  much 
dreaded ;  neighbours  would  not  approach  the  house, 
and  Griselda's  daily  note  was  sent  by  post.  Lady 
Mary  also  wrote  occasionally  to  inquire,  and  passed 
on  the  answer  to  Magdalen.  The  former  felt  very 
unhappy  that  the  engagement  had  not  been  a  certain 
fact,  but  she  comforted  herself  with  the  idea  that  a 
dangerous  illness  adds  ten  per  cent,  to  the  interest  a 
woman  feels  for  a  man  who  loves  her.  Brice  Leslie 
was  bound  to  marry  Magdalen,  and  she  on  her  side 
would  still  further  have  her  liking  turned  into  pity, 
her  pity  into  love.  Lady  Mary  always  argued  neatly ; 
her  talents  included  the  talent  of  seeing  a  proper  fit- 
ness and  a  sequence  of  events  with  a  strange  clearness 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 


275 


of  insight,  and  her  prophecies,  when  communicated  to 
others  in  concise  language,  much  helped  to  bring 
about  their  own  fulfilment. 

Brice's  bedroom  looked  out  upon  a  picturesque 
lane  branching  off  from  the  main  road,  a  lane  seldom 
used  except  by  the  drivers  of  country  carts  or  the 
clergyman's  pony-carriage,  occasionally  driven  down 
that  side  to  reach  an  out-of-the-way  hamlet.  The 
house  was  old-fashioned  and  many-gabled,  faced  with 
rough  weather-tiles ;  there  was  a  large  flower  and 
kitchen  garden  at  the  back,  whilst  in  front  one  could 
see  the  blue  distance  through  the  overbranching  trees 
of  the  country  lane. 

There  was  a  peacefulness  about  the  place  which 
was  very  charming  to  weary  folk,  very  soothing  to 
overwrought  nerves.  Even  Miss  Leslie's  common- 
place remarks  harmonised  with  the  stillness;  there 
was  no  fear  of  any  outburst  of  mental  energy  on  her 
part  as  she  went  about  her  daily  duties  and  of  the 
servant's  delinquencies  made  mountains  out  of  mole- 
hills. She  felt  that  it  was  very  tiresome  to  have  a 
nurse  in  the  house — nurses  were  always  so  upsetting 
and  required  so  much  waiting  upon ;  then  Brice  hav- 
ing contracted  this  infectious  malady  was  the  crown 
of  all  misfortune.  She  was  one  of  those  poor  souls 
who  trifle  away  happiness  with  trifling  miseries,  till  it 
must  be  supposed  that  their  misery  becomes  a  pleas- 
ure, and  that  they  will  accept  even  the  perfections  of 
heaven  with  a  sigh. 


276  A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 

Miss  Leslie  was  of  course  methodical.  Every  day 
after  luncheon  she  took  a  constitutional  walk,  usually 
to  some  cottages;  for  visiting  the  poor  was  one  of  the 
few  excitements  she  allowed  herself — an  excitement 
she  could  all  the  more  enjoy,  because  it  gave  her 
the  opportunity  to  deplore  the  thriftless  ways  of  her 
neighbours.  She  always  started  at  two  o'clock,  and 
came  back  at  four.  At  half  past  four  she  rang  the 
bell  for  tea,  after  this  she  read  aloud  to  her  parents  if 
they  wished  it,  or  she  wrote  the  family  letters.  There 
is  more  pleasure  than  many  persons  understand  in 
daily  monotony,  and  certainly  Miss  Leslie  enjoyed  it 
to  the  full. 

And  now  the  most  anxious  period  of  Brice's  illness 
had  passed.  He  was  still  very  ill,  very  weak,  and  the 
doctor  said,  highly  infectious;  but  there  was  now 
hope  he  would  pull  through,  if,  that  is,  he  did  not  have 
a  relapse.  Perfect  quiet  was  ordered,  and  the  nurse 
was  a  great  martinet.  Miss  Leslie  sometimes  walked 
as  far  as  Foy  Lodge,  and  on  these  occasions  she  felt 
that  it  was  a  very  unfortunate  thing  for  Brice  to  be  en- 
gaged to  such  a  young  girl  as  Griselda.  Suppose  she 
had  been  already  his  wife,  what  could  she  have  known 
about  nursing?  In  fact,  she  disapproved  of  the  whole 
business,  adding  to  her  other  shortcomings  a  disbelief 
in  the  capabilities  of  young  people. 

The  October  sun  was  sinking  one  day  when  Miss 
Leslie,  having  been  delayed  by  her  father's  indisposi- 
tion, started  off  with  her 'mother  for  a  late  constitu- 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  277 

tional  drive.  Brice  was  decidedly  better,  though 
dreadfully  weak,  but  he  was  able  to.be  left  alone  for  a 
short  time — indeed  he  said  he  preferred  it ;  so  the 
nurse  was  asked,  and  somewhat  ungraciously  agreed 
to  sit  with  Mr.  Leslie  whilst  his  wife  and  daughter 
went  for  a  very  necessary  change  of  air.  They  meant 
to  drive  to  Foy  Lodge,  and  as  the  carriage  passed  up 
the  lane  and  emerged  into  the  high  road  they  saw  a 
fly  stop  at  the  village  inn,  and  a  lady  step  out  of  it. 
Miss  Leslie  pointed  her  out  to  her  mother,  and  as  they 
both  made  much  of  any  small  event,  wondered  what 
elegant  stranger  could  be  putting  up  at  such  a  humble 
place  as  "  The  Wyvern." 

"  It  is  rather  late,  too,"  said  Miss  Leslie  ;  "perhaps 
it  is  merely  a  visitor  to  the  Vicarage ;  their  stable 
only  takes  in  the  pony  carriage."  This  subject  suf- 
ficed the  two  ladies  for  half  an  hour's  conversation,  so, 
without  noticing  it  they  passed  the  exquisite  fir-wood, 
where  the  low  slanting  sunlight  struck  the  red  stems 
and  turned  them  into  a  quivering  blaze  of  apricot-red. 
Then  as  they  drove  over  one  of  the  Bridges  of  the 
canal,  they  did  not  even  heed  how  the  sunlight  mir- 
rored the  surface  of  the  water  with  glories  which  no 
painter  could  reproduce. 

But  all  this  intense  beauty  was  not  thrown  away 
on  the  stranger  who — having  told  the  flyman  to  wait 
at  the  "Wyvern"  till  her  return — walked  down  the 
hill  towards  Gable  End.  Woman  of  the  world  she 
might  be,  and  with  many  powers  dwarfed  for  want 


278  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

of  using  them — devoid,  too,  of  that  religious  enthu- 
siasm which,  capable  of  elevating  the  human  mind 
above  itself,  defies  the  lower  nature  to  do  its  worst. 
In  spite  of  this,  Magdalen  Cuthbert  still  possessed  a 
poet's  soul,  and  who  shall  positively  deny  that  this  did 
not  replace  in  her  much  of  that  which  Miss  Leslie 
would  have  thought  far  more  important  ? 

On  the  crest  of  the  slight  rising,  from  which  one 
could  see  the  chimneys  of  Gable  End,  she  paused 
and  looked  around  her.  No  one  was  in  sight ;  she 
was  alone  with  Nature.  On  her  right  she  saw  the 
fields  of  richest  colouring ;  the  dividing  hedges  of 
golden  autumn  tints  mingling  with  darkest  green ; 
waves  of  varying  colour,  over  which  the  eye  travelled 
with  the  same  pleasure  which  the  body  experiences 
when  carried  over  the  swelling  waves.  In  the  deep 
blue  distance  rose  a  beautiful  hill,  round  which  the 
sky-line  appeared  to  pencil  a  lighter  halo  of  gold,  a 
hill  whose  outline  was  made  irregular  by  a  thick 
crown  of  fir-trees,  which  recalled  with  their  separated 
pinnacles  the  law  of  the  lost  and  found. 

Over  all  this  the  October  sun  was  slowly  sinking 
towards  its  bed  of  purple  clouds,  spread  ready  to  re- 
ceive it  before  the  glory  should  disappear. 

On  the  other  side,  the  scene  was  less  suggestive  of 
field-labour.  The  country  here  consisted  of  pure 
heather  land ;  the  hills  were  diversified  by  threads  of 
sandy  roads,  bordered  by  pines,  whilst  here  and  there 
larches  and  oak-trees  made  sharp  contrasts  with  the 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  279 

firs.  Nearer  still  was  the  village  church,  of  no  partic- 
ular architecture  and  surmounted  with  an  open  turret, 
within  which  the  one  bell  could  be  clearly  seen ;  but, 
to  make  up  for  its  poverty  of  outline,  God's  Acre,  full 
of  graves,  lay  all  around.  It  had  been  made  out  of 
barely-reclaimed  heather  land,  where  Nature  reasserted 
itself  and  sowed  its  heath  flowers,  its  dwarf  gorse,  its 
purple  rattle,  its  toad  flax,  and  its  hundred  other  minute 
blossoms  to  ornament  the  nameless  mounds  of  the 
poor,  or  to  add  greater  glory  to  the  headstones  of  the 
rich. 

Magdalen  looked  at  all  this  as  if  she  were  in  a 
dream.  Somehow,  she  could  not  realise  life  ;  she  felt 
as  if  she  herself  were  unreal,  and  that  even  the  beauty 
about  her  was  more  like  a  vision  than  a  reality.  She 
could  not  analyse  it,  but  in  her  present  mood  it 
seemed  to  give  her  that  extraordinary  sympathy  some 
minds  experience  when  face  to  face  with  inanimate 
nature  ;  a  sympathy  which  is  so  mysterious  that  no 
philosopher  has  attempted  to  explain  it,  nor  indeed  to 
be  certain  of  its  reality. 

There  was  no  one  in  sight,  no  possible  witness  to 
her  actions,  no  reason  to  pose,  no  man  or  woman  pres- 
ent to  admire  her.  The  intense  stillness  was  almost 
irritating  in  its  calmness  ;  it  did  not,  however,  help 
her  to  see  anything  calmly  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  added 
to  her  emotion  and  to  her  uncertainty.  It  made  her 
feel  that  life  was  a  mistake,  that  her  life  had  been  a 
failure,  and  that  now  by  her  own  act  she  was  going  to 


28o  A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 

deprive  the  future  of  hope,  and  make  it  as  gloomy  as 
the  past.  There  would  be  nothing  to  look  forward  to, 
not  even  the  calm  impassibility  of  nature,  nor  its  free- 
dom from  thought  or  feeling.  Was  anything  worth 
troubling  oneself  about  ?  was  there  such  a  thing  as 
right  and  wrong,  as  good  or  evil  ?  was  it  not  all  ab- 
stract feeling  decided  and  crystallised  by  men,  but  as 
varying  as  the  shapes  of  crystallised  particles  ?  At  one 
time  the  race  believed  in  one  shape,  at  another  in  its 
opposite  ;  but  the  thing  itself  was  incapable  of  dis- 
covery, and  after  all,  perhaps,  not  worth  discov- 
ering. 

Such  were  Magdalen's  thoughts  for  a  moment,  as 
she  stood  there  on  the  crest  of  the  hill  and  heaved  a 
deep  sigh  which  brought  her  no  relief.  Then  with  the 
suddenness  of  man's — or  shall  we  say  woman's — vary- 
ing thought,  her  wavering  feelings  were  m  a  moment 
transformed  into  certainty. 

"  If  there  is  a  higher  Power,  if  we  are  not  merely 
cast  here  to  wander  on  where  our  disposition  leads  us, 
then  there  may  be  some  good  in  this, — then  I  may 
make  up  for  something  else,  that  is  if  the  whole  idea 
of  making  up  is  tenable.  There  must  be  such  a 
Power,  even  though  veiled  in  mystery  ;  there  must  be 
— there  must  be.  If  there  is,  then  God  help  me  to  be- 
lieve in  it,  and  in  Him." 

She  was  once  more  the  Magdalen  Cuthbert,  who 
in  early  youth  had  entered  bravely  into  life's  arena, 
meaning  to  come  out  of  it  with  a  patent  of  nobility ; 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY.  28l 

she  was  once  more  the  true,  unselfish  woman  she  had 
felt  herself  capable  of  being — oh,  so  long  ago  it 
seemed  ! — so  long  ago.  Her  lips  relaxed,  her  eyes 
lost  their  hard  look,  her  slight  frown  gradually  disap- 
peared. As  long  as  life  lasts  there  is  always  a  power 
of  rising  (though  there  are  some  who  disbelieve  this 
creed),  there  is  always  some  spark  that  can  be  re- 
kindled, if  not  kept  alight,  and  there  is  always  power 
to  bring  forth  the  unexpected. 

She  woke  up  from  her  trance  and  forced  herself  to 
think  of  the  present  and  of  the  reason  which  had 
brought  her  here.  She  also  had  noticed  the  two 
ladies,  and  the  landlord  of  the  inn  had  pointed  them 
out  to  her  and  named  them,  for  she  had  just  inquired 
where  the  Leslies  lived.  He  had  offered  to  stop  them 
for  her,  but  she  had  refused  imperatively,  secretly  de- 
lighted that  so  far  chance  had  helped  her.  Now  she 
walked  down  the  lane  till  she  came  to  the  swing-gate 
that  led  up  to  the  front  door  of  Gable  End.  Mag- 
dalen paused  ;  she  had  left  everything  to  chance,  and 
now  she  seemed  unable  to  settle  what  to  say,  if  she 
did  go  up  and  ring  the  bell ;  so  she  walked  slowly 
down  the  road  looking  at  the  house  over  the  palisade, 
which  was  edged  with  low  laurels.  Her  quick  glance 
took  in  more  than  the  deliberate  gaze  of  most  people; 
she  saw  that  the  window  beneath  the  front  gable  was 
only  opened  a  little  at  the  top  and  bottom,  that  the 
blind  was  half-drawn  down,  and  that  a  small  vase  of 
flowers  had  been  placed  on  the  window-sill.  That 


282  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

must  be  the  sick-room,  she  decided ;  the  scent  of  hot- 
house flowers  had  been  too  strong  for  the  invalid  and 
the  nurse  had  placed  them  outside. 

But  how  was  she  to  get  a  sight  of  Brice,  how  speak 
to  him  ?  She  had  pondered  over  this  without  arriving 
at  any  solution.  The  danger  of  infection  would  cause 
everyone  to  be  denied  an  entrance,  but  Magdalen  had 
determined  that  she  would  see  Brice,  that  she  would 
speak  to  him  if  only  for  a  minute. 

Now,  without  further  waiting,  she  gently  pushed 
open  the  gate,  and,  not  letting  it  swing  back,  she 
walked  noiselessly  up  the  path.  The  bright  sunlight 
burst  forth  at  this  moment  and  was  as  quickly  over- 
shadowed by  a  passing  cloud.  Suddenly,  Magdalen's 
doubts  and  hesitation  were  dispelled,  for  she  found 
the  front  door  standing  open,  and  her  mind  was  at 
once  made  up.  Leaving  her  sunshade  in  a  corner  of 
the  hall,  she  walked  quickly  upstairs.  There  were  no 
maids  about ;  she  saw  the  dining-room  door  standing 
wide  open,  and  from  a  distant  region  came  sounds  of 
tea-cups ;  so,  most  likely,  some  of  the  maids  were 
having  their  early  tea.  At  the  top  of  the  stairs 
Magdalen  paused  to  consider  which  could  be  Brice's 
room;  in  another  moment  she  had  decided.  But  now 
she  heard  close  beside  her  a  door  creak  on  its  hinges. 
Another  instant  and  she  walked  towards  an  angle  and 
placed  herself  behind  it,  and  from  this  hiding-place 
she  saw  the  nurse  in  her  uniform  walk  down-stairs 
holding  a  tray  in  her  hand.  She  had  not  come  out  of 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


283 


the  room  which  Magdalen  had  already  settled  was 
Brice's  sick-chamber.  Was  she  then  mistaken  ?  Per- 
haps so,  but  she  would  make  sure.  She  heard  the 
baize  door  below  swing  back,  and  in  the  short  interval 
came  the  sound  of  female  voices,  undoubtedly  belong- 
ing to  servants  who  feel  free  of  the  ears  of  a  strict 
mistress. 

Magdalen  walked  straight  to  the  room  of  the  gable 
window  and  opened  it  softly.  The  first  glance  assured 
her  she  was  right ;  she  was  in  a  sick-room,  and  in 
Brice's  sick-room.  There  were  no  curtains  to  his 
bed,  and  he  lay  there  with  closed  eyes,  and  so  pale 
and  gaunt-looking  as  to  be  barely  recognisable.  He 
must  have  been  very  near  death's  door  ;  was  he 
already  entering  it  ?  A  great  pity  awoke  in  Mag- 
dalen's heart,  a  love  for  the  strong  man  brought  low, 
which  for  the  instant  had  a  real  touch  of  the  motherly 
instinct. 

She  closed  the  door  noiselessly,  and  walked  a  few 
steps  forward.  Her  heart  beat  fast ;  she  was  doing  an 
unheard-of  thing,  and  at  any  moment  she  might  be 
discovered.  What  would  Brice  himself  think  of  her  ? 
what  would  he  say  to  her  ? 

She  paused  a  few  feet  away  from  the  bed,  and 
Brice,  fancying  the  nurse  had  returned,  opened  his 
eyes;  then,  as  in  one  of  his  feverish  dreams,  his 
glance  met  that  of  Magdalen's  blue  eyes.  There  she 
stood— dressed  in  soft  clinging  black — with  a  feath- 
ered hat  he  had  seen  at  Rosehill,  that  softened  away 


284  A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 

the  harder  outlines  ;  and  as  he  looked,  never  doubting 
for  a  moment  that  his  brain  was  playing  him  this 
trick,  he  saw  her  lips  part,  he  saw  the  living  colour 
spread  over  her  cheeks,  and  the  smile  that  had  often 
turned  his  head  break  forth.  He  started  up,  and  in 
his  poor,  weak,  altered  voice  he  called  her — "  Mag- 
dalen!  " 

"  Hush ! "  she  said  gently,  and  with  a  cadence 
of  tone  that  he  had  never  heard  before,  so  that  he 
thought  Dante's  Beatrice  could  never  have  been  half 
so  beautiful, — "  Hush,  Brice,  I  have,  come  to  see  you 
for  a  moment  only — to — to — "  She  could  not  say  the 
word  yet,  it  seemed  to  stick  in  her  throat,  to  force 
itself  back. 

"  Is  it  true  ?"  he  said,  in  his  hoarse  whisper;  "  is  it 
you,  you  yourself  ?"  Then,  partly  realising  the  truth, 
with  his  thin,  transparent  hand  he  feebly  waved  her 
away — 

"  For  God's  sake,  Magdalen — for  God's  sake,  do 
not  come  near  me;  there  is  still  infection — you  may 
be  in  danger." 

"I  am  not  afraid;  do  not  agitate  yourself — see,  I 
have  no  fears."  She  came  close  to  him  and  took  his 
hand.  The  effort  he  had  made  was  all  he  was  equal 
to,  his  eyes  now  looked  up  only  in  mute  appeal. 

"  Magdalen,"  he  repeated  softly,  but  the  word  was 
only  just  audible. 

"  Do  not  speak,"  she  said,  stooping  a  little  so  that 
her  face  seemed  to  him  like  a  saint's  head  appearing 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY.  285 

above  him;  "you  have  been  very  ill — but  you  are 
better  now ;  Lady  Mary  sent  me  word  that  you  were. 
I  am  glad,  so  very  glad.  You  will  get  well — and  you 
will  forget  me." 

He  lifted  his  eyes  mutely  to  hers ;  the  pathos  of  the 
look  brought  tears  into  her  blue  eyes,  as  his  lips  tried 
to  frame  her  name  again. 

"  Yes,  you  will  get  well  and  you  will  be  happy.  I 
have  seen  your  Griselda — Brice;  don't  turn  away,  but 
listen  to  me.  I  have  so  few  minutes — I  ought  not  to 
be  here — what  will  they  say  to  me  ?  I  have  never 
spoken  like  this  before  to  mortal  man  or  woman,  I 
never  shall  again.  It  has  all  been  a  mistake,  but — it 
was  my  fault  partly  ;  I  played  with  fire,  and  then  I 
cried  when  it  burnt  me.  Brice,  can  you  understand  ?  I 
loved  you  first  for  having  been  good  to  Percy,  for 
being  such  a  true  friend,  and  then  because  of — my- 
self. I  was  so  proud  to  have  won  a  noble  heart — and 
then — when  I  knew —  No,  I  don't  blame  you  ;  I  see  it 
all,  I  would  not  draw  back.  I  am  so  vain,  so  proud,  I 
would  not  draw  back.  But  since  then  I  have  seen 
Griselda,  I  have  thought  it  all  out.  She  is  good,  so 
good  that  she  will  make  you  happy — because  she  is 
unselfish.  And  we — you  and  I,  Brice— it  might  have 
been  all  a  mistake.  You  would  have  got  over  the 
fancy;  and  I — I  must  have  disappointed  you — I  know 
I  should ;  we  might  even  have  got  tired  of  each 
other,  and  I  should  have  heard  you  reproach  me.  O 
Brice  !  I  am  so  proud,  so  proud,  I  don't  know  what  I 


286  A  WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 

should  have  done.  Sometimes  I  doubt  everything — I 
'doubt  if  I  can  love." 

She  had  spoken  very  quickly,  very  hurriedly,  she 
hardly  knew  if  she  were  saying  what  she  meant  to 
say ;  she  had  rehearsed  it  mentally  several  times,  but 
those  words  were  not  forthcoming — these  did  not  ex- 
press all  she  meant  to  say,  but  they  were  the  first  that 
her  lips  could  frame.  With  another  man,  or  with  a 
man  in  strong  health,  the  old  Magdalen  might  have 
reappeared;  she  might  have  been  cold  or  wayward  or 
haughty,  and  she  might  have  waited  for  the  worship 
she  expected ;  but  all  this  was  gone,  and  little  as  she 
guessed  it  she  was  a  woman  now,  a  woman  who  could 
have  retained  love  as  well  as  evoked  it.  If  this  mood 
could  have  lasted — if — 

"  Magdalen,  you  are  a  noble  woman,  you  must  de- 
spise me,"  he  said,  trying  to  speak  plainly. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  How  can  I  despise  any 
one  ?  Listen,  Brice,  in  my  heart  I  believe — yes,  I  do 
believe,  that  I  am  still  true  to  Percy — as  you  were." 

A  light  came  into  the  sick  man's  eyes.  He  could 
not  take  his  eyes  from  the  beautiful  face  near  to  him. 

"  Then  I  may  speak  now — you  would  not  let  me 
before.  His  last  words  were  of  you.  '  If  I  could  see 
her,'  he  said,  '  she  would  forgive — she  would  pity  me 
too  much  to  turn  away  from  me.'  " 

Magdalen's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  seemed  so 
much  to  want  pity  herself  now ;  she  wanted  love  so 
much,  so  much,  and  she  was  giving  it  up.  Percy  had 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


287 


lived  to  want  it  too — to  want  her  love.  She  loosed 
Brice's  hand  and  clasped  hers  together,  suffering  a 
silent  concentrated  pain  which  she  could  have  ex- 
plained to  no  one  and  which  none  could  have  under- 
stood. 

Yes,  Brice  might  have  done  so  because'  he  loved 
her,  but  he  was  too  weak  to  think  out  any  great 
thought.  He  knew  that  she  was  by  his  side,  the  rest 
he  would  remember  afterwards. 

At  that  moment  Magdalen  was  recalled  to  the 
present  by  the  sound  of  an  opening  door;  she  had 
stayed  too  long  already,  she  must  go.  She  stooped 
down  and  put  her  hand  again  on  Brice's  thin  fingers; 
they  were  burning  hot  now,  perhaps  she  had  done  him 
harm. 

"  Thank  you,  Brice,  for  telling  me.  I  must  go,  I 
have  made  you  worse.  There — good-bye — some  day 
you  will  thank  me." 

"  No — no."  He  tried  to  shake  his  head,  tried  to 
clasp  her  cool  hand.  "Stay." 

"  No,  but,  Brice — I  came  to  say  good-bye.  Some 
day,  years  hence,  when  there  is  no  more  pain,  you  will 
like  to  think  that — I  loved  you." 

Before  he  could  stop  her — for  just  then  the  terrible 
fear  for  her  safety  again  swept  over  him — she  stooped 
down  and  kissed  him. 

"  Good-bye,  Brice,  you  will  be  happy — you  are 
the  only  man  I  have  kissed,  except  Percy  and  my 
father." 

19 


288  A   WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"The  danger,"  he  murmured,  trying  to  raise  her 
hand  to  his  lips.  "  Go,  for  God's  sake,  Magdalen,  go." 

She  stooped  again  and  smoothed  his  hair,  as  she 
answered  with  the  sad,  pathetic  little  laugh  of  old — 

"  The  danger — I  know  it — I — I Good-bye, 

Brice,  if  I  might,  I  would  say,  God  bless  you." 

There  was  no  time  for  more;  a  distant  footstep 
was  really  audible  as  Magdalen  moved  away.  She 
did  not  look  back,  but  before  Brice  could  do  more 
than  try  to  raise  himself — try  to  call  her  once  more 
"  Magdalen  " — she  was  gone,  and  the  door  was  softly 
shut.  When  the  nurse  came  in  she  found  that  her 
patient,  who'm  she  had  left  so  convalescent,  had 
fainted  away. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

ON  this  very  evening  Lady  Mary  sat  in  her  draw- 
ing-room, talking  over  plans  with  her  husband.  It  was 
only  a  fortnight  since  the  place  had  been  so  lively,  and 
since  all  the  world  had  praised  her  and  her  unique  en- 
tertainment. She  was  reaping  her  reward,  and  so  was 
Frank ;  only,  in  his  case,  the  reward  was  not  much 
appreciated.  There  were  invitations  everywhere  and 
from  everybody,  on  Lady  Mary's  table;  there  were 
letters  from  the  most  fashionable  people,  and  lying 
about  Frank  Milton's  studio  were  humble  petitions 
for  portraits  by  his  hand. 

"We  shall  have  to  go  back  to  it  all,"  said  Lady 
Mary,  warming  her  feet  at  the  fire,  for  it  was  a  chilly 
evening  and  a  tiny  fire  made  the  gathering  darkness 
pleasant  by  contrast ;  "  but  this  fortnight  has  been 
very  pleasant,  hasn't  it,  Frank  ?  this  solitude  in  the 
country  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  only  it  is  too  good  to  last,  Polly,"  he  said  ; 
then,  with  an  unusual  exhibition  of  sentiment,  he  went 
to  the  back  of  his  wife's  chair  and  stroked  her  gold- 
shaded-hair ;  "  but  I  fancy  we  might  say  that  of 
heaven,  and  some  people  I  could  name  would  get 


290 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


weary  of  what  they  call  '  nice  solitude  in  the 
country,'  for  instance." 

"  That's  too  bad,  Frank  ;  you  know  I'm  not  tired  of 
your  society,  sir,  especially  when  you  are  in  a  good 
humour,  and  don't  abuse  my  friends." 

"  What  friends,  Lady  Mary  ?  " 

"  Why,  Magdalen  Cuthbert,  of  course.  I  am  long- 
ing to  proclaim  to  the  world  that  '  Marmaduke '  and 
'  Esther '  are  really  wedded,  and  that  they  will  be  hap- 
py ever  after — as  happy  as  we  are.  Eh,  sir,  what  do 
you  say  to  that?"  and  Lady  Mary  put  her  hand  up 
behind  her  head  and  found  it,  as  she  expected,  clasped 
in  Frank's  hearty  honest  fist. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  and  I  differ  on  that  subject. 
If  you  took  a  true  view  of  that  lady  you  would  know 
she  was  a  woman  without  a  heart,  who  lives  on  admi- 
ration she  does  not  even  care  to  possess.  You  forget 
what  I  can  remember,  there  was — " 

"Pray  don't,  Frank;  I  know  exactly  what  you  are 
going  to  say,  and  you  know  what  I  shall  answer.  In 
spite  of  the  past  Magdalen  is — " 

The  door  was  flung  open,  the  footman  stood  in  the 
doorway  with  the  look  of  a  Jack-in-the-box  just 
emerged  from  its  prison. 

"  Miss  Cuthbert,  my  lady ;  she  would  like  to  speak 
to  you  in  the  hall." 

The  coincidence  made  Frank  feel  dreadfully  guilty, 
as  if  both  the  footman  and  Magdalen  had  personally 
overheard  him,  whilst  Lady  Mary,  knowing  that  she  at 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY.  29! 

least  was  a  true  friend,  hurried  into  the  hall  where 
Miss  Cuthbert  stood  in  the  twilight  looking  like  some 
black-robed  representation  of  night. 

"  My  dear  Magdalen,  why  do  you  stay  here  ? 
Where  have  you  come  from  ?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ? 
Is  anything  the  matter  ?  I  did  not  hear  you  drive  up. 
Why,  in  a  fly,  too  ?  " 

"  Don't  kiss  me,"  said  Magdalen,  in  such  a  soft 
tone  that  Lady  Mary  hardly  recognised  it  as  hers. 
She  put  her  gently  away.  "You  had  better  not, 
though  it  is  not  infectious  except  from  contact." 

"  What  nonsense  !  what  is  it  ?  Has  Mrs.  Stewart 
had  smallpox  ?" 

"  No,  no  ;  but  will  you  take  me  in  for  one  night, 
after  you  know  that  I  have  been  with  some  one  who 
has  or  has  had  diphtheria?" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  !  "  said  Lady  Mary,  in  a  suppressed 
state  of  excitement — "  yes,  of  course,  you  can  stay  here. 
It's  all  right,  I'll  give  orders.  I'm  not  afraid  in  the 
least ;  but,  no,  I  won't  ask  you  any  more  questions  till 
after  dinner.  You  are  just  in  time." 

Such  a  warm  welcome  as  this  seemed  to  restore  a 
little  of  Magdalen's  powers  of  feeling.  All  through 
that  long,  long  drive  she  had  felt  as  if  transformed  into 
stone ;  besides,  she  was  very  weary,  very  sick  at  heart. 

"  If  you  are  a  good  Samaritan  you  will  let  me  go  to 
bed  and  send  me  a  mouthful  of  something  upstairs.  I 
am  very  tired,  and  I  think  I  have  a  headache,  or  what 
people  call  a  headache." 


292  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

"  Of  course,  anything  you  like,  my  dear  Magdalen. 
Is  Mrs.  Stewart  better  ? " 

"  Yes,  but  far  from  well ;  I  must  go  back  to- 
morrow early,  but  to-night — well,  I  wanted  just  the 
quiet  you  will  give  me." 

The  two  women  went  upstairs  together,  and  the 
household  in  general  saw  little  of  Miss  Cuthbert 
either  that  evening  or  the  next  morning.  Lady  Mary 
was  somewhat  silent  and  absent  during  this  time,  and 
Frank,  believing  the  Magdalen  had  come  for  another 
indefinite  stay,  suddenly  departed  to  his  studio.  He 
was  wrong  in  this  small  particular,  however,  but  the 
mistake  was  of  no  account  in  comparison  with  his 
grand  triumph.  The  moment  of  it  came  next  day 
when  his  wife  was  again  sitting  in  the  twilight  with 
him,  for  the  artist  enjoyed  blindman's  holiday  time. 

"  Frank,"  she  began,  but  her  lord  and  master 
was  trying  to  draw  a  charcoal  head,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  impressionists,  and  answered  at  cross- 
purposes. 

"  You  don't  need  light,"  he  said,  when  he  took  up 
his  block,  "  for  this  sort  of  thing,  and  the  less  you 
look  at  your  strokes  the  more  they  will  look  like  the 
real  thing." 

"  Well,  I  like  the  impressionist  school ;  don't  abuse 
them,  they  make  you  think  of  something  below  the 
surface  ;  but,  Frank — " 

"  Really,  Mary,  to  look  at  Helmont's  portrait  of 
Miss  Dorant  is  an  insult  to  art." 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


293 


"  Do  leave  the  impressionists,  Frank,  and  listen  to 
me;  I  suppose  I  must  tell  you  some  time  or  other." 

"  Eh,  what  ? " 

"  Well,  about  Magdalen.     I  was  nearly  right." 

Frank's  interest  was  roused  at  once  by  the  word 
nearly,  and  he  laughed  heartily. 

"  Oh,  well,  it's  only  nearly,  is  it  ?  Let's  hear  the 
news,  my  dear  Mary  ;  so  it  wasn't  quite  so  certain  as 
you  fancied." 

u  Oh,  yes,  it  was.  Frank,  you  needn't  laugh.  I've 
been  puzzling  my  brains  about  it  ever  since  dear  Mag- 
dalen went  away." 

"  I  think  I  can  relieve  your  mind  without  your 
puzzling  about  it.  Leslie  wasn't  such  a  fool  as  to 
make  the  offer." 

Lady  Mary's  face  brightened. 

"  But  he  did — at  least  I  believe  he  did ;  so  there 
you  are  wrong." 

"  Or,  if  he  did,  I  was  going  to  say,  she  didn't — " 

"  That  you  can't  tell;  indeed,  I  believe  she  did,  and 
that—" 

"But  the  truth  is — " 

"  That  Brice  Leslie  did  make  the  offer,  and  she  re- 
fused him." 

"  What !     Since  his  illness,  or  before  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter — she  has  refused  him,  so 
I  suppose  you  will  always  think  you  were  right." 

"  There  was  no  thinking  necessary.  I  was  cer- 
tain she  would  jilt  him,  as  she  did  those  other  poor 


294 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


fellows.  I'm  sorry  we  put  him  in  the  way  of  seeing 
her." 

"  Oh,  I  fancy  it  was  love  at  first  sight,  but  she 
isn't  a  jilt." 

"  Come,  Mary,  do  be  sensible.  Isn't  it  jilting  a 
man  when  you  act  with  him,  and  meander  round  with 
him,  and  walk  and  talk  and  make  eyes  at  him,  and 
then  throw  him  over  ?  Why,  the  Magdalen  posed 
the  whole  time  she  was  here,  and  thoroughly  gulled 
that  poor  man." 

"  Nonsense,  Frank,  I  don't  understand — there — 
I  am  honest,  and  I  say  I  have  lost ;  still,  I'm  sure  Mag- 
dalen did  like  him  and  believed  herself  capable  of 
making  him  happy ;  and,  as  he  adored  her,  it  was  very 
foolish  of  her  to  refuse.  Still,  till  something,  or 
some  one,  proves  it  to  me  in  black  and  white,  I  shall 
not  believe  Magdalen  hopelessly  heartless." 

"  Women  will  not  understand  the  simplest  logic. 
Didn't  I  tell  you  so  at  the  time  ?  Miss  Cuthbert  was 
merely  amusing  herself  with  him,  she  treated  him  as 
she  has  treated  others.  I  wish  you  had  not  tried  to 
bring  it  on ;  it's  rather  hard  on  a  nice  fellow  like  Les- 
lie. However — " 

"  Don't,  Frank,"  said  his  wife  impatiently.  "  I'm 
horribly  disappointed  ;  indeed,  I  would  rather  my  party 
had  failed  than  this —  Poor  Magdalen  !  " 

"  That  is  certainly  wasted  pity,  but,  of  course, 
least  said  soonest  mended.  Only,  next  time,  don't  ask 
the  man  and  the  woman  here." 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


295 


Lady  Mary  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  You  remind  me  of  the  clergyman  who  in  the  mar- 
riage service  says — "  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be 
married  to  this  man."  Have  you  noticed,  Frank, 
there  is  no  orthodox  answer  in  the  Prayer  Book  ?  I 
own  I  meant  to  do  it,  but — there,  I  need  not  have  ex- 
pected sympathy  from  you." 

"  Polly,  don't  be  cross,  but — look  here — I  may  be 
awfully  old-fashioned,  but  there's  too  much  of  this 
match-making  in  society ;  there  are  enough  masculine 
fools  without  our  trying  to  add  to  their  number.  But 
I'm  wasting  breath,  your  face  says  you  are  not  con- 
vinced." 

Lady  Mary  rose  and  slowly  paced  the  room.  This 
pair,  happy  as  they  were,  and  because  they  were 
happy,  did  not  often  indulge  in  the  expression  of 
their  deeper  thoughts. 

"  Look  here,  Frank,  I  was  wrong  to — make  a  wager 
about  it,  but  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart  it  was  really 
because  I — I  wanted  some  one,  I  wanted  Magdalen, 
to  be  as  happy  as  I  am." 

Frank  was  conquered,  and  the  quarrel  ended  here ; 
but,  strangely  enough,  both  kept  their  own  opinion — 
Frank  that  Magdalen  Cuthbert  was  a  shameless  flirt,  ' 
and  had  purposely  beguiled  Brice   Leslie,  and  Lady 
Mary  that  some  mystery  was  involved  in  her  failure. 

Brice  Leslie  was  thrown  back  by  the  excitement  he 
had  gone  through ;  a  temporary  paralysis  of  his  limbs, 


296  A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY. 

a  common  result  of  diphtheria,  succeeded  in  rendering 
him  helpless  as  a  baby,  and  much  speculation  of  course, 
followed  as  to  the  reason.  Miss  Leslie  put  it  down  to 
one  set  of  causes,  the  doctor  to  another,  and  the  nurse 
to  her  having  been  told  to  leave  him.  The  real  reason, 
strangely  enough,  was  never  discovered. 

But  Brice's  serious  symptoms  soon  passed  away. 
Perhaps  the  definite  breaking  off  with  Magdalen  was, 
in  reality,  a  relief  to  his  mind,  although  he  would  not 
own  it  to  himself.  He  could  not  help  recognising  the 
truth  of  Magdalen's  words,  at  the  same  time  that  he 
was  feeling  as  if  life  could  never  be  the  same  to  him 
again.  The  doctors — for  a  second  one  had  to  be 
called  in — both  agreed  that,  as  soon  as  possible,  the 
invalid  should  be  moved  on  board  ship  and  should 
take  a  sea-voyage.  That  would  restore  him  better 
than  anything  else.  His  constitution  was  naturally 
strong,  he  would  thus  be  able  to  overcome  the  after- 
effects of  that  treacherous  malady. 

Griselda  Foy  at  this  time  wrote  oftener  than  ever ; 
she  sent  books  to  Brice,  flowers  and  fruit,  and  her 
daily  thoughtfulness  began  to  tell,  now  that  the  Gor- 
dian  knot  was  really  cut.  She  had  grown  wonderfully 
older  in  this  last  month ;  even  her  home  people  recog- 
nised the  fact,  and  this  caused  her  mother  to  be  very 
tender  with  her.  There  was  no  doubt  now  that  she 
loved  Brice  too  much  ever  to  think  of  any  one  else; 
all  ideas  of  seeing  Griselda  a  duchess  or  a  fashionable 
lady  were  forever  given  up  by  Mrs.  Foy. 


A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 


297 


When  she  heard  Brice  was  to  be  carried  on  board 
a  P.  and  O.,  and  take  the  voyage  to  the  Cape  and 
back,  Griselda  was  very  glad.  Something  in  her  heart 
told  her  this  was  best,  and  young  as  she  was  she  had 
the  power  of  forgetting  herself  in  the  thought  for 
those  she  loved.  It  is  a  question  often  worth  sifting, 
whether  such  people  get  their  reward.  Griselda  did, 
but  it  would  not  be  safe  for  any  one  to  embark  on  the 
path  of  unselfishness  with  any  certain  hope  of  it. 
They  might  find  that  virtue  has  most  often  to  be  con- 
tent with  itself  and  with  nothing  else  for  a  prize. 

But  on  the  same  day  that  Griselda  heard  the  news 
that  Brice  would  have  to  go  abroad  immediately,  and 
that  she  might  come  and  see  him  for  a  brief  five  min- 
utes to  say  good-bye,  she  received  a  note  in  an  un- 
known hand.  The  letter  was  signed  A.  Stewart,  and 
was  short,  the  characters  being  very  shaky  and  not 
very  legible. 

"  DEAR  Miss  FOY, — I  am  writing  a  very  hasty  line, 
to  satisfy  the  mind  of  my  dear  patient.  She  cannot 
speak,  but  she  is  just  able  to  write,  and  I  copy  her 
words:  'Tell  her  that  I  have  kept  my  promise;  my 
love  to  both. — MAGDALEN.'  I  am  sure  you  will  all  the 
more  value  the  message  when  you  know  how  great 
an  effort  it  was  for  her  to  write  at  all.  She  is  very  ill, 
but  we  have  two  famous  throat-doctors,  and  they  have 
every  hope  of  her  recovery.  I  am  kept  out  of  the 
sick-room,  as  I  can  do  nothing,  and  intense  quiet  is 


298  A   WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

absolutely  necessary  in  such  a  bad  case  of  diphtheria. 
—Yours  sincerely,  A.  STEWART." 

When  Griselda  went  to  say  good-bye  to  Brice  she 
gave  up  some  of  her  precious  time  in  order  that  he 
might  read  the  note.  "  I  know  you  would  rather  read 
this,  dear  Brice,"  she  said  very  quickly.  He  turned 
intensely  pale  as  he  took  the  letter. 

"  I  have  got  over  it — she  must,"  he  said,  not  daring 
to  look  at  Griselda. 

"  I  hope  she  will — because — because  I  love  her." 

"  Telegraph  to  me,  Griselda." 

"Yes;  and  oh,  Brice,  you  will  come  back  well  and 
strong,  and  then,  then — if — " 

Neither  of  them  said  any  more  ;  tragic  moments  in 
some  lives  are  tragic  because  wordless. 

In  her  town  house  Magdalen  Cuthbert  at  that  mo- 
ment lay  motionless  in  her  sick-room.  This  woman, 
so  much  admired  and  sought  after,  was  strangely 
lonely,  or  so  it  would  have  seemed  to  an  outsider. 
The  people  who  knew  her  best  were  all  out  of  Lon- 
don. The  few  who  did  more  than  admire  her  were 
not  allowed  to  come  to  her,  the  risk  was  too  great ; 
Mrs.  Stewart  herself,  still  very  delicate,  was  really 
only  in  the  way,  and  the  doctors  expelled  her.  There 
were  two  trained  nurses,  who  took  the  nursing  in  turn. 
One  of  them  had  a  gentle,  sweet  face,  and  Magdalen, 
when  she  cared  to  do  anything,  liked  looking  at  her ; 


A  WOMAN    OF   FORTY. 


299 


but  the  disease  had  attacked  her  in  its  most  virulent 
form — it  cut  her  off  almost  at  once  from  her  fellow- 
creatures,  for  her  throat  was  too  bad  to  allow  her  to 
speak. 

Both  nurses  said  she  was  extraordinarily  patient 
and  calm  ;  they  even  hinted  that  she  ought  to  be 
roused  a  little  more,  that  she  ought  to  fight  with 
death,  and  when  off  duty  they  told  stories  of  various 
cases  of  people  who  had  lived,  apparently  because 
they  would  not  die. 

The  doctors  were  wonderfully  skilful,  and  they 
looked  upon  the  case  as  one  full  of  interest  to  science. 
They  were  heroic  in  their  devotion  and  untiring  in 
their  efforts.  They  really  conquered  the  disease,  ob- 
stinate as  it  proved  to  be.  One  of  them,  indeed,  the 
younger  doctor,  took  a  very  deep  interest  in  the  pa- 
tient, because  he  was  struck  with  her  forlorn  condi- 
tion. He  said  once,  "Such  a  handsome  woman,  and 
yet  not  one  relation  to  come  to  her,  only  that  fussy 
old  woman  who  is  useless."  Magdalen  had  several 
times  smiled  at  him,  even  though  she  could  not  speak, 
and  apparently  her  smile  retained  its  old  power. 

They  conquered  the  diphtheria,  that  was  true,  but 
the  prostration  was  terrible  ;  they  had  to  fight  next 
against  that.  The  elder  physician  began  to  look 
grave.  "This  is  getting  serious,"  he  remarked  to  his 
colleague. 

"  Serious,  yes,  but  not  too  serious,"  said  the  other 
man.  "  She  has  a  splendid  constitution." 


300 


A  WOMAN    OF    FORTY. 


"  That  seems  to  make  but  little  difference  in  these 
diphtheritic  cases." 

But  the  younger  man  was  determined  to  save  her ; 
he  disbelieved  in  rules  about  recovery. 

Magdalen  herself  did  not  allow  her  thoughts  to  be 
divined.  She  bore  everything  with  heroic  courage, 
but  as  for  the  rest — 

Her  mind  had  remained  perfectly  clear  through  all 
the  agony  of  her  suffering,  but  at  this  moment  that 
terrible  ordeal  was  over  and  she  now  and  then  fancied 
herself  elsewhere.  Now  and  then,  too,  she  thought 
Percy  had  come  back  and  was  standing  close  beside 
her ;  she  could  see  his  handsome  face,  his  smile,  and 
his  dark  eyes  full  of  love.  She  stretched  out  her  hand 
to  touch  him,  and  to  ask  him  why  he  did  not  kiss  her, 
but  instead  of  finding  him  she  touched  the  nurse  who 
sat  there  reading.  She  was  studying  her  Bible,  and 
the  place  was  marked  by  a  lace  picture  of  the  Cruci- 
fixion. Magdalen  was  suddenly  recalled  to  reality  by 
being  conscious  of  the  nurse's  gentle  face,  for  the 
young  woman  rose  and  bent  over  her,  and  asked  her 
if  she  wanted  anything. 

"  I  thought  you  were  Percy,"  whispered  Mag- 
dalen, as  if  the  nurse  must  know  whom  she 
meant. 

The  lace  picture  fell  on  the  bed,  and  Magdalen's 
blue  eyes  rested  upon  it. 

"  Pin  it  up,"  she  said,  "where  I  can  see  it." 

The  nurse   complied.      In  another  moment,  how- 


A  WOMAN   OF    FORTY.  3OI 

ever,  the  blue  eyes  looked  at  the  nurse,  and  Magdalen 
tried  to  shake  her  head. 

"Shall  I  take  it  down?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  do  not  like  it  ?" 

"  I  want  a— a— little  joy.  Is  there  any— any- 
where ? " 

It  was  getting  dusk,  and  there  was  a  gentle  knock 
at  the  door.  The  nurse  went  softly  to  open  it,  and  a 
telegram  was  handed  in  to  her.  She  came  back  to 
the  bedside.  Mrs.  Stewart  had  opened  it,  and  had 
sent  it  up. 

"  Here  is  a  message  from  a  friend.  Shall  I  read 
it? 

The  blue  eyes  said  "yes."  They  were  not  dimmed 
at  all,  and  the  nurse  admired  them  immensely. 

"  Give  her  our  love. — GRISELDA." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  smile  over  the  patient's  face  ; 
it  lit  up  all  the  features;  it  seemed  to  triumph  over 
pain  and  over  weariness ;  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  re- 
ceived the  answer  to  her  question,  and  that  the 
answer  had  been  a  certainty — that  there  was  joy 
somewhere,  even  for  her. 

But  as  suddenly  the  smile  faded,  the  eyes  closed, 
and  the  door  opened  to  let  the  young  doctor  come  in. 

He  gave  one  glance  at  the  beautiful  face,  and 
seized  a  bottle  close  at  hand.  He  put  his  arm  round 


302  A  WOMAN   OF   FORTY. 

Magdalen,  and  lifted  her  gently — she  was  already  un- 
conscious— and  tried  to  pour  the  liquid  down  her 
throat. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  thought,  "  it  sometimes  happens  like  this 
in  these  cases — sudden  syncope.  Hayles  was  right 
after  all." 

He  and  the  nurse  did  their  utmost,  but  it  was 
useless. 

Both  of  them  were  too  much  used  to  death  to  be 
outwardly  moved,  but  in  his  heart  the  young  man 
grieved.  Aloud  he  said — 

"  A  clot  of  blood  touched  the  heart.  It  must  have 
been  instantaneous.  No  blame  to  you,  nurse ;  you  did 
everything  that  was  possible.  Our  skill  is  powerless 
in  such  cases." 

"  She  was  too  beautiful  to  die,"  said  the  nurse,  and 
there  were  unshed  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  How  old  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  when 
he  had  to  write  the  certificate  of  death. 

"  A  woman  of  forty." 

But  there  were  a  few  then  and  afterwards  who 
sorrowed  deeply,  and  who  never  forgot  Magdalen 
Cuthbert. 

THE   END. 


APPLETONS'   TOWN   AND   COUNTRY   LIBRARY, 

PUBLISHED   SEMI-MONTHLY. 

1.  The  Steel  Hammer.     By  Louis  ULBACH, 

2.  Eve.     A  Novel.     By  S.  BARING-GOULD. 

3.  For  Fifteen  Years.    A  Sequel  to  The  Steel   Hammer.     By   Locif 

ULBACH. 

4.  A  Counsel  of  Perfection.     A  Novel.     By  Lc  CAS  MA  LET. 

5.  The  Deemster.     A  Romance.     By  HALL  CAIXE. 

6.  A  Virgtma  Inheritance.     By  EDMUND  PENDLETON. 

7.  Ninette  :  An  Idyll  of  Provence.     By  the  author  of  Yera. 

8.  "  The  Right  Honourable."     A  Romance  of  Society  and  Politics.     By 

JUSTIN  MCCARTHY  and  Mrs.  CAMPBELL-PRAED. 

9.  The  Silence  of  Deem  MaUlfrnd.     By  MAXWELL  GRBY. 

10.  Mrs.  Lorimer :  A  Study  in  Black  and  White.     By  LUCAS  MALET. 

11.  The  Elect,  Lady.     By  GEORGE  MACDONALD. 

12.  The  Mystery  of  the  "Ocean  Star."     By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL. 
13    Aristocracy.     A  Novel. 

14.  A  Recoiling  Vengeance.     By  FRANK  BARRETT.     With  Illustrations. 

15.  The  Secret  of  Fontaine-la- Croix.     By  MARGARET  FIELD. 

16.  The  Master  of  Rathkelty.     By  HAWLEY  SMART. 

17.  Donovan:  A  Modern  Englishman.   By  EDNA  LYALL.   (Cheap  edition.) 

18.  This  Mortal  Coil.     By  GRANT  ALLEN. 

19.  A  Fair  Emigrant.     By  ROSA  MULHOLLAND. 

20.  The  Apostate.     A  Romance.     By  ERNEST  DACDET. 

21.  Raleigh  Westgate ;  or,  Epimenides  in  Maine.     By  HELEN  KENDRICK 

JOHNSON. 

22.  Arius  tlie  Libyan:   A  Romance  of   the  Primitive   Church.     (Cheap 

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24.  We  Two.     By  EDNA  LYALL.     (Cheap  edition.) 

25.  A  Dreamer  of  Dreams.     By  the  author  of  Thoth. 

26.  The  Ladies'  'Gallery.     By  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY,  M.  P.,  and  Mrs.  CAMP- 

BELL-PRAED. 

27.  The  Reproach  of  Anneslcy.     By  MAXWELL  GREY. 

28.  year  to  Happiness. 

29.  In  the  Wire-Grass.    By  Louis  PENDLETON. 

30.  Lace.     A  Berlin  Romance.     By  PAUL  LINDAP. 

31.  American  Coin.     A  Novel.     By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 

32.  Won  by  Waiting.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

33.  The  Story  of  Helen  Davenant.     By  VIOLET  FANE. 

34.  TJie  Light  of  Her  Countenance.     By  II.  II.  BOYESEX. 

35.  Mistress   Beatrice   Cope ;  or.  Passages  in   the  Life  of  a  Jacobite's 

Daughter.     By  M.  E.  LE  CLERC. 

36.  The  Knight-Errant.     By  EDNA  LYALL. 
87.  In  the  Golden  Days.     By  EDNA  LYALL. 

38.  Giraldi ;  or,  The  Curse  of  Love.     By  Ross  GEORGE  BERING. 

39.  A  Hardy  Norseman.     By  EDNA  LYALL. 

40.  The  Romance  of  Jenny  Harlowe,  and  Sketches  of  Maritime  Life.     By 

W.  CLARK  RUSSELL. 


APPLETONS1  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY.-(Cto«««w^.) 

41.  Passion's  Slave.     By  RICHARD  AsHK-KiNG. 

42.  The  Awakening  of  Mary  Fenwick.     By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

43.  Countess  Lorcley.     Translated  from  the  German  of  RUDOLF  MENGER. 

44.  Blind  Love.     By  WILKIE  COLLINS. 

45.  The  Dean's  Daughter.     By  SOPHIE  F.  F.  VEITCH. 

46.  Countess  Irene.     A  Romance  of  Austrian  Life.     By  J.  FOGERTY. 

47.  Robert  Browning's  Irincipal  /Shorter  Poems. 

48.  Frozen  Hearts.     By  G.  WEBB  APPLETON. 

49.  Djambek  the  Georgian.     By  A.  G.  VON  SUTTNER. 

50.  IJie  Craze  of  Christian  Engelhart.     By  HKNRY  FAULKNER  DARNELL. 

51.  Lai.     By  WILLIAM  A.  HAMMOND,  M.  D.     (Cheap  edition.) 

52.  Aline.     A  Novel.     By  HENRY  GREVILLE. 

53.  Joost  Avelingh.     A  Dutch  Story.     By  MAARTEN  MAARTENS. 

54.  Katy  of  Catoctin.     By  GEORGE  ALFRED  TOWNSEND. 

55.  Throckmorlon.     A  Novel.     By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEA  WELL. 

56.  Expatriation.     By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 

57.  Geoffrey  Hampstead.     Bv  T.  S.  JARVIS. 

58.  Dmitri.     A  Romance  of"  Old  Russia.     By  F.  W.  BAIN,  M.A. 

59.  Part  of  the  Property.     By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

60.  Bismarck  in  Private  Life.     By  a  Fellow  Student. 

61.  In  Low  Relief.     By  MORLEY  ROBERTS. 

62.  The  Canadians  of  Old.    An  Historical  Romance.    By  PHILIPPE  GASPK. 

63.  A  Squire  of  Low  Degree.     By  LILY  A.  LONG. 

64.  A  Fluttered  Dovecote.     By  GEORGE  MANVILLE  FENN. 

65.  The  Nugcnts  of  Carriconna.     An  Irish  Story.     By  TIGHE  HOPKINS. 

66.  A  Sensitive  Pttmt.     By  E.  and  D.  GERARD. 

67.  Dona  Luz.     By  Don  JUAN  VALERA.     Translated  by  Mrs.  MARY  J. 

SERRANO. 

68.  Pepita  Ximenez.     By  Don  JUAN  VAI.ERA.     Translated  by  Mrs.  MARY 

J.  SERRANO. 

69.  The  Primes  and  TJieir  Neighbors.     Tales   of   Middle   Georgia.     By 

RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

70.  Tlie  Iron  Game.     By  HENRY  F.  KEENAN. 

71.  Stories  of  Old  New  Spain.     By  THOMAS  A.  JANVIER. 

72.  The  Maid  of  Honor.     By  Hon.  LEWIS  WINGFIELD. 

73.  In  the  Heart  of  the  Storm.     By  MAXWELL  GRKY. 

74.  Consequences.     By  EGERTON  CASTLE. 

75.  The  Three  Miss  Kings.     By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

76.  A  Matter  of  Skill.     By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

77.  Maid  Marian,  and  Other  Stories.     By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL. 

78.  One  Woman's  Way.     By  EDMUND  PENDLETON. 

79.  A  Mrrcif-d  Divorce.     By  F.  W.  MAUDE. 

80.  Stephen  Ellicotfs  Daughter.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDKLI-. 

81.  One  Reason  Why.     By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

82.  The  Tragedy  of  Ida  Noble.     By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL. 

83.  The  Johnstown  Stage,  and  Other  Vlorirs.     By  ROBERT  II.  FLETCHER. 

84.  A  Widower  Indeed.     By  RHODA  BROUGHTON  and  ELIZABETH  BISLAND. 

85.  The  Flight  of  the  Shadow.     By  GEORGE  MACDONALD. 

86.  Love  or  Money.     By  KATHARINE  LEE. 


APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY. -(Continued.) 

87.  Not  All  in  Vain.     By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

88.  It  Happened  Yesterday.     By  FREDERICK  MARSHALL. 

89.  My  Guardian.     By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

90.  The  Story  of  Philip  Methuen.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDELL. 

91.  Amethyst:  The  Story  of  a  Beauty.     By  CHRISTABEL  R.  COLERIDGE. 

92.  Don  Braulio.     By  JUAN  VALERA.     Translated  by  CLARA  BELL. 

93.  The  Chronicles  of  Mr.  Bill  Williams.     By  RICHARD  M.  JOHNSTON. 

94.  A  Queen  of  Curds  and  Cream.     By  DOROTHEA  GERARD. 

95.  "Za  Bella"  and  Others.     By  EGERTON  CASTLE. 

96.  "  December  Rose's.'11     By  Mrs.  CAMPBELL-PRAED. 

97.  Jean  de  Kerdren.     By  JEANNE  SCHULTZ. 

98.  Elelka's  Vow.     By  DOROTHEA  GERARD. 

99.  Cross  Currents.     By  MARY  A.  DICKENS. 

100.  His  Life's  Magnet.     By  THEODORA  ELMSLIK. 

101.  Passing  the  Love  of  Women.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  XEEDELL. 

102.  In  Old  St.  Stephen's.     By  JEANIE  DRAKE. 

103.  The  Berkeley.?  and  Their  Ndghbors.     By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWKLL. 

104.  Mona  Maclean,  Medical  Student.     By  GRAHAM  TRAVERS. 

105.  Mrs.  Bligh.    By  RHODA  BROUGHTON. 

106.  A  Stumble  on  the  Threshold.     By  JAMES  PAYN. 

107.  Hanging  Moss.     By  PAUL  LINDAU. 

108.  A  Comedy  of  Elopement.     By  CHRISTIAN  REID. 

109.  In  the  Suntime  of  her  Youth.     By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

110.  Stories  in  Black  and  White.     By  THOMAS  HARDY  and  Others. 
110-J.  An  Englishman  in  Paris.     Notes  and  Recollections. 

111.  Commander  Mendoza.     By  JCAN  VALERA. 

112.  Dr.  PauWs  Theory.     By  Mrs   A.  M.  DIEHL. 

113.  Children  of  Destiny.     By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL. 

114.  A  Little  Minx.     By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

115.  Capfn  Davy's  Honeymoon.     By  HALL  CAINE. 

116.  The  Voice  of  a  Flower.     By  E.  GERARD. 

1 1 7.  Singularly  Deluded.     By  the  author  of  Idcala. 

118.  Suspected.     By  LOUISA  STRATENUS. 

119.  Lucia,  Huyk,  and  Another.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  XEEDELL. 

120.  TJie  Tutor's  Secret.     By  VICTOR  CHERBCLIEZ. 

121.  From  the  Five  Rivers.     By  Mrs.  F.  A.  STEEL. 

122.  An  Innocent  Impostor,  and  Other  Stories.     By  MAXWELL  GREY. 

123.  Ideala.     By  SARAH  GRAND. 

124.  A  Comedti  of  Masks.     By  ERNEST  DOWSON  and  ARTHUR  MOORE. 

125.  Relics.     By  FRANCES  MAC^AB. 

126.  Dodo:  A  'Detail  of  the  Day.     By  E.  F.  BENSON. 

127.  A  Woman  of  Forty.     By  ESME  STUART.     . 

Each,  12mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  75  cents  and  $1.00. 
New  York:   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers,  1,  3,  &  6  Bond  Street. 


M 


D.   APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 
AN Y  INVENTIONS.     By  RUDYARD   KIPLING. 

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"The  reader  turns  from  its  pages  with  the  conviction  that  the  author  has  no  supe- 
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in  which  none  of  his  contemporaries  approach  him — the  ability  to  select  out  of  couiu!e?s 
details  the  few  vital  ones  which  create  the  finished  picture.  He  knows  how,  wi.h  a 
phrase  or  a  word,  to  make  you  see  his  characters  as  he  sees  them,  to  make  you  feel 
the  full  meaning  of  a  dramatic  situation." — New  York  'tribune. 

'"Many  Inventions'  will  confirm  Mr.  Kipling's  reputation.  .  .  .  We  would  cite 
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Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  powers  as  a  story-teller  are  evidently  not  diminishing.  We  advise 
everybody  to  buy  '  Many  Inventions,'  and  to  profit  by  some  of  the  best  entertainment 
that  modern  fiction  has  to  offer." — New  York  Sun. 

"  '  Many  Inventions  '  will  be  welcomed  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken. 
.  .  .  Every  one  of  the  stories  bears  the  imprint  of  a  master  who  conjures  up  incident 
as  if  by  magic,  and  who  portrays  character,  scenery,  and  feeling  with  an  ease  which  is 
only  exceeded  by  the  boldness  of  force." — Boston  Globe. 

"  The  book  will  get  and  hold  the  closest  attention  of  the  reader." — American 
Bookseller. 

"  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling's  place  in  the  world  of  letters  is  unique.  He  sits  quite  al<  of 
and  alone,  the  incomparable  and  inimitable  master  of  the  exquisitely  fine  art  of  short- 
story  writing.  Mr.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  has  perhaps  written  several  tales  which 
match  the  run  of  Mr.  Kipling's  work,  but  the  best  of  Mr.  Kipling's  tales  are  matchless, 
and  his  latest  collection,  'Many  Inventions,'  contains  several  such." — Philadelphia 
Press. 

"Of  late  essays  in  fiction  the  work  of  Kipling  can  be  compared  to  only  three — 
Blacktnore's  '  Lorna  Doone,'  Stevenson's  marvelous  sketch  of  Villon  in  the  'New 
Arabian  Nights, "and  Thomas  Hardy's 'Tess  of  the  p'Urbervilles.'  .  .  .  It  is  probably 
owing  to  this  extreme  care  that  'Many  Inventions  '  is  undoubtedly  Mr.  Kipling's  best 
book." — Chicago  Post. 

"Mr.  Kipling's  style  is  too  well  known  to  American  readers  to  require  introduction, 
but  it  can  scarcely  be  amiss  to  say  there  is  not  a  story  in  this  collection  that  does  not 
more  than  repay  a  perusal  of  them  all." — Baltimore  American. 

"  As  a  writer  of  short  stories  Rudyard  Kipling  is  a  genius.  He  has  had  imitators, 
but  they  have  not  been  successful  in  dimming  the  luster  of  his  achievements  by  con- 
trast. .  .  .  'Many  Inventions'  is  the  title.  And  they  are  inventions— entirely  origi- 
nal in  incident,  ingenious  in  plot,  and  startling  by  their  boldness  and  force." — Rochester 
Herald. 

"  How  clever  he  is !  This  must  always  be  the  first  thought  on  reading  such  a 
collection  of  Kipling's  stories.  Here  is  art — art  of  the  most  consummate  sort.  Com- 
pared with  this,  the  stories  of  our  brightest  young  writers  become  commonplace."  — 
New  York  Evangelist. 

"Taking  the  group  as  a  whole,  it  may  be  said  that  the  execution  is  up  to  his  best 
in  the  past,  while  two  or  three  sketches  surpass  in  rnunGed  strength  and  vividness  of 
imagination  anything  else  he  has  done." — Hartford  Cottrant. 

"fifteen  more  extraordinary  sketches,  without  a  ting"  of  sensationalism,  it  would 
be  hard  to  find.  .  .  .  Every  one  has  an  individuality  of  its  own  which  fascinates  the 
reader." — Boston  Times. 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

"  A  book  which  no  student  of  modern  literature  should  fail  to  read.'1'1 

D'S  FOOL.  By  MAARTEN  MAARTENS,  author  of 
"  The  Sin  of  Joost  Avelingh."  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Throughout  there  is  am  epigrammatic  force  which  would  make  palatable  a  less 
interesting  story  of  human  lives  or  one  less  deftly  told." — London  Saturday  Review. 

"  Perfectly  easy,  graceful,  humorous.  .  .  .  The  author's  skill  in  character-drawing 
is  undeniable." — London  Chronicle. 

"  A  remarkable  work." — New  York  Times. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  has  secured  a  firm  footing  in  the  eddies  of  current  literature. 
.  .  .  Pathos  deepens  into  tragedy  in  the  thrilling  story  of  '  God's  Fool.' " — Philadel- 
phia Ledger. 

"  Its  preface  alone  stamps  the  author  as  one  of  the  leading  English  novelists  of 
to-day." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"A  striking  and  powerful  story.  ...  Its  author  is  a  powerful  painter  of  character, 
and  he  knows  the  shortest  way  to  his  readers'  hearts." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"Maarten  Maartens  is  a  great  novelist  and  a  remarkable  man.  .  .  .  Few  books 
since  the  best  days  of  Dickens  and  Thackeray  contain  such  quiet  humor  and  depict 
human  nature  with  such  an  unerring  touch." — Cleveland  World. 

"The  strength  of  'God's  Fool'  holds  the  attention,  and  its  clear  presentation  of 
truth  in  human  life  places  it  among  the  works  of  genius." — Boston  "Journal. 

"  It  is  very  full  of  suggestions  as  well  as  descriptions,  and  each  one  of  its  chapters  is 
a  marvel  in  itself." — New  York  Journal  oj  Commerce. 

"  The  book  is  full  of  viftJ  moral  lessons,  indirectly  yet  powerfully  taught,  and  is  a 
remarkably  engrossing  novel.  The  characters  are  drawn  with  masterful  skill,  and  the 
climax  is  a  complete  surprise." — The  Congregationalist. 

"A  new  and  powerful  novelist,  a  keen  observer  of  men  and  manners,  and  an 
epigrammatic  writer." — American  Hebrew. 

"  We  can  not  dispute  his  strength  as  a  novelist  or  question  his  standing  among  the 
foremost  of  living  authors  of  fiction." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  interest  and  point." — New  York  Observer. 

"  The  dialogue  is  animated  and  piquant,  and  is  characterized  by  a  pervasive  and 
unfailing  wit,  and  the  whole  literary  execution  is  of  the  finest  and  subtlest  order." — 
Petersburg  (  fa. )  Index-Appeal. 

"  Impressive  originality,  vivid  truth  to  nature,  picturesqueness  of  style,  deep  world- 
knowledge,  and  a  large  cosmopolitan  sentiment  are  among  the  possessions  of  this 
writer,  who  decidedly  stands  in  the  very  front  rank  of  contemporary  masters  of  fiction." 
— Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"The  story  is  wonderfully  brilliant.  .  .  .  The  interest  never  lags;  the  style  is 
realistic  and  intense;  and  there  is  a  constantly  underlying  current  of  subtle  humor. 
...  It  is,  in  short,  a  book  which  no  student  of  modern  literature  should  fail  to  read." 
— Boston  Times. 

New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


Brtr  Rabbit  divulges  his  plans.     (From  "  Uncle  Rtinus.") 

T  JNCLE  REMUS :   his  Songs  and  his  Sayings.     The 
*-X      Folk-lore  of  the  Old  Plantation.     By  JOEL  CHANDLER  HAR- 
RIS.    Illustrated  from  Drawings  by  F.  S.  CHURCH  and  J.  H. 
MOSER,  of  Georgia.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  idea  of  preserving  and  publishing  these  legends  in  the  form  in  which  the  old 
plantation  negroes  actually  tell  them,  is  altogether  one  of  the  happiest  literary  con- 
ceptions of  the  day.  And  very  admirably  is  the  work  done.  ...  In  such  touches  lies 
the  charm  of  this  fascinating  little  volume  of  legends,  which  deserves  to  be  placed  on  a 
level  with  Reincke  Fuchs  for  its  quaint  humor,  without  reference  to  the  ethnological 
interest  possessed  by  these  stories,  as  indicating,  perhaps,  a  common  origin  for  very 
widely  severed  races." — London  Spectator. 

"  We  arc  just  discovering  what  admirable  literary  material  there  is  at  home,  what 
a  great  mine  there  is  to  explore,  and  how  quaint  and  peculiar  is  the  material  which 
can  be  dug  up.  Mr.  Harris's  book  may  be  looked  on  in  a  double  light — either  as  a 
pleasant  volume  recounting  the  stories  told  by  a  typical  old  colored  man  to  a  child, 
or  as  a  valuable  contribution  to  our  somewhat  meager  folk-lore.  .  .  .  To  Northern 
readers  the  story  of  Brer  (Brother — Brudder)  Rabbit  may  be  novel.  To  those  familiar 
with  plantation  life,  who  have  listened  to  these  quaint  old  stories,  who  have  still  tender 
reminiscences  of  some  good  old  mauma  who  told  these  wondrous  adventures  to  them 
when  they  were  children,  Brer  Rabbit,  the  Tar  Baby,  and  Brer  Fox  come  back  again 
with  all  the  past  pleasures  of  younger  days." — New  York  Times. 

"  Uncle  Remus's  sayings  on  current  happenings  are  very  shrewd  and  bright,  and 
the  plantation  and  revival  songs  are  choice  specimens  of  their  sort." — Boston  Journal, 

"  The  volume  is  a  most  readable  one,  whether  it  be  regarded  as  a  humorous  book 
merely,  or  as  a  contribution  to  the  literature  of  folk-lore." — A>7«<  York  World. 

"This  is  a  thoroughly  amusing  book,  and  is  much  the  best  humorous  compilation 
that  has  been  put  before  the  American  public  for  many  a  day." — Philadelphia  Tele- 
graph.   


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D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


QN 
v-'     B 


THE  PLANT  A  TION. 
By  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS,  au- 
thor  of  "  Uncle  Remus."     With 
23  Illustrations  by  E.  W.  KEM- 
BLE,  and  Portrait  of  the  Author. 
I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 
The  most  personal  and  in  some  re- 
spects the  most  important  work  which 
Mr.  Harris  has  published  since  "Uncle 
Remus."     Many  will  read  between  the 
lines  and  see  the  autobiography  of  the 
author.     In  addition  to  the  stirring  inci- 
dents which  appear  in  the  story,  the  au- 
BRER  RABBIT  PREACHES.  thor  presents  a  graphic  picture  of  certain 

phases  of  Southern  life  which  have  not 

appeared  in  his  books  before.  There  are  also  new  examples  of  the  folk-lore 
of  the  negroes,  which  became  classic  when  presented  to  the  public  in  the 
pages  of  "  Uncle  Remus.'' 

"The  book  is  in  the  characteristic  vein  which  has  made  the  author  so  famous  ana 
popular  as  an  interpreter  of  plantation  character."— Roc/tester  Union  and  Advertiser. 

"Those  who  never  tire  of  Uncle  Remus  and  his  stories— with  whom  we  would  be 
accounted — will  delight  in  Joe  Maxwell  and  his  exploits." — London  Saturday  Re-view. 

"  Altogether  a  most  charming  book.'  — Chicago  Times. 

"  Really  a  valuable,  if  modest,  contribution  to  the  history  of  the  civil  war  within  the 
Confederate  lines,  particularly  on  the  eve  of  the  catastrophe.  While  Mr.  Harris,  in  his 
preface,  professes  to  have  lost  the  power  to  distinguish  between  what  is  true  and  what 
is  imaginative  in  his  episodical  narrative,  the  reader  readily  finds  the  clew.  Two  or 
three  new  animal  fables  are  introduced  with  effect ;  but  the  history  of  the  plantation,  the 
printing-office,  the  black  runaways,  and  white  deserters,  of  whom  the  impending  break- 
up made  the  community  tolerant,  the  coon  and  fox  hunting,  forms  the  serious  purpose 
of  the  book,  and  holds  the  reader's  interest  from  beginning  to  end.  Like  '  Daddy  Jake,' 
this  is  a  good  anti-slavery  tract  in  disguise,  and  does  credit  to  Mr.  Harris's  humanity. 
There  are  amusing  illustrations  by  E.  W.  Kemble." — New  York  Evening  Post. 

"A  charming  little  book,  tastefully  gotten  up.  .  .  .  Its  simplicity,  humor,  and  indi- 
viduality would  be  very  welcome  to  any  one  who  was  weary  of  the  pretentiousness  and 
the  dull  obviousness  of  the  average  three-vclume  novel." — London  Chronicle. 

"The  mirage  of  war  vanishes  and  reappears  like  an  ominous  shadow  on  the  horizon, 
but  the  stay-at-home  whites  of  the  Southern  Confederacy  were  likewise  threatened  by 
fears  of  a  servile  insurrection.  This  dark  dread  exerts  its  influence  on  a  narration  which 
is  otherwise  cheery  with  boyhood's  fortunate  freedom  from  anxiety,  and  sublime  disre- 
gard for  what  the  morrow  may  bring  forth.  The  simple  chronicle  of  old  times  'on  th« 
plantation  '  concludes  all  too  soon  ;  the  fire  burns  low  and  the  tale  is  ended  just  as  the 
reader  becomes  acclimated  to  the  mid-Georgian  village,  and  feels  thoroughly  at  home 
with  Joe  and  Mink.  The  '  Owl  and  the  Birds,'  '  Old  Zip  Coon,'  the  'Big  Injun  and 
the  Buzzard,'  are  joyous  echoes  of  the  plantation-lore  that  first  delighted  us  in  '  Uncle 
Remus.'  Kemble's  illustrations,  evidently  studied  from  life,  are  interspersed  in  these 
pages  of  a  book  of  consummate  charm." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 


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.  .  .  A  master's  hand  shows  itself  in  every  page." — Literary  World. 

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formality,  bigotry,  and  death." — Public  Opinion. 

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respect  to  simplicity,  vitality,  and  directness  of  style,  these  sermons  might  be  studied 
with  special  profit." — Advance. 

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.  .  .  A  strong  and  interesting  study  of  Georgia  characteristics  without  depending  upon 
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which  all  the  people  are  such  as  might  be  found  in  almost  any  Southern  village  before 
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HT 

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Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

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as  lumps  of  pure  comedy,  as  refreshing  as  traveler's  trees  in  a  thirsty  land;  and  the 
literary  South  may  be  grateful  that  it  has  a  living  writer  able  and  willing  to  cultivate  a 
neglected  patch  of  its  wide  domain  with  such  charming  skill."—  The  Critic. 


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•*•        GILBERT  PARKER. 

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FAIENCE     VIOLIN.       By   CHAMPFLEURY. 
-«        Translated  by  W.  H.  BISHOP. 

"  The  style  is  happy  throughout,  the  humorous  parts  being  well  calculated  to  bring 
smiles,  while  we  can  hardly  restrain  our  tears  when  the  poor  enthusiast  goes  to  excesses 
that  have  a  touch  of  pathos."  —  Albany  Times-Union. 


T 


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are  charmingly  told,  and  their  setting  is  an  artistic  delight." — / hiiadetphia.  Bulletin. 

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CALIFORNIA.  By  KATE  SANBORN,  author  of  "Adopting 
an  Abandoned  Farm,"  etc. 

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and  then  she  gives  the  cons .  Decidedly  the  ayes  have  it.  ...  The  book  is  sprightly 
and  amiably  entertaining.  The  descriptions  have  the  true  Sanborn  touch  of  vitality 
and  humor." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"  Those  who  have  read  Miss  Kate  Sanborn's  book  entitled  '  Adopting  an  Aban- 
doned Farm'  will  look  to  her  new  volume  for  vivacity  and  cheerful  comment.  They 
will  not  be  disappointed,  for  the  little  book  is  readable  from  cover  to  cover." — The 
Outlook. 

/I  BORDER  LEANDER.  By  HOWARD  SEELY, 
•*^Z  author  of  " A  Nymph  of  the  West,"  etc. 

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scribes them  all  with  a  Texan  flavor  that  is  refreshing." — A'.  Y.  Times. 

"A  swift,  gay,  dramatic  little  tale,  which  at  once  takes  captive  the  reader's 
sympathy  and  holds  it  without  difficulty  to  the  end."  —  Charleston  News  and 
Courier. 

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OUISA     MUHLBACH'S    HISTORICAL 

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In  offering  to  the  public  our  new  and  illustrated  \irno  edition  of 
Louisa  Mtihlbach's  celebrated  historical  romances  we  wish  to  call 
attention  to  the  continued  and  increasing  popularity  of  these  books  for 
over  thirty  years.  These  romances  are  as  well  known  in  England 
and  America  as  in  the  author's  native  country,  Gennany,  and  it  has 
been  the  unanimous  verdict  that  no  other  romances  reproduce  so 
vividly  the  spirit  and  social  life  of  the  times  which  are  described.  In 
the  vividness  of  style,  abundance  of  dramatic  incidents,  and  the  dis- 
tinctness of  the  characters  portrayed,  these  books  offer  exceptional 
entertainment,  while  at  the  same  time  they  familiarize  the  reader  with 
the  events  and  personages  of  great  historical  epochs. 

The  titles  are  as  follows : 

Napoleon  and  the  Queen  of  Prussia. 

The  Empress  Josephine. 

Napoleon  and  Blucher. 

Queen  Hortense. 

Marie  Antoinette  and  her  Son. 

Prince  Eugene  and  his  Times. 

The  Daughter  of  an  Empress. 

Joseph  II  and  his  Court. 

Frederick  the  Great  and  his  Court. 

Frederick  the  Great  and  his  Family. 

Berlin  and  Sans-Souci. 

Goethe  and  Schiller. 

The    Merchant    of    Berlin,    and    Maria   Theresa   and 

her  Fireman. 

Louisa  of  Prussia  and  her  Times. 
Old  Fritz  and  the  New  Era. 
Andreas  Hofer. 

Mohammed  AH  and  his  House. 
Henry  VIII  and  Catherine  Parr. 


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CAMP-FIRES  OF  A  NA TURALIST.  From  the 
Field  Notes  of  LEWIS  LINDSAY  DYCHE,  A.  M.,  M.  S.,  Professor 
of  Zoology  and  Curator  of  Birds  and  Mammals  in  the  Kansas 
State  University.  The  Story  of  Fourteen  Expeditions  after 
North  American  Mammals.  By  CLARENCE  E.  EDWORDS. 
With  numerous  Illustrations.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  It  is  not  always  that  a  professor  of  zoology  is  so  enthusiastic  a  sportsman  as  Prof. 
Dyche.  His  hunting  exploits  are  as  varied  as  those  of  Gordon  Gumming,  for  example, 
in  bouth  Africa.  His  grizzly  bear  is  as  dangerous  as  the  lion,  and  his  mountain  sheep 
and  goats  more  difficult  to  stalk  and  shoot  than  any  creatures  of  the  torrid  zone.  Evi- 
dently he  came  by  his  tastes  as  a  hunter  from  lifelong  experience." — New  York 
Tribune. 

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"There  is  abundance  of  interesting  incident  in  addition  to  the  scientific  element, 
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hunters,  and  the  hardships  cheerfully  undertaken." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  The  narrative  is  simple  and  manly  and  full  of  the  freedom  of  forests.  .  .  .  This 
record  of  his  work  ought  to  awaken  the  interest  of  the  generation  growing  up,  if  only 
by  the  contrast  of  his  active  experience  of  the  resources  of  Nature  and  of  savage  life 
with  the  background  of  culture  and  the  environment  of  educational  advantages  that 
are  being  rapidly  formed  for  the  students  of  the  United  States.  Prof.  Dyche  seems, 
from  this  account  of  him,  to  have  thought  no  personal  hardship  or  exertion  wasted  in 
his  attempt  to  collect  facts,  that  the  naturalist  of  the  future  may  be  provided  with  com- 
plete and  verified  ideas  as  to  species  which  will  soon  be  extinct.  This  is  pood  work — 
work  that  we  need  and  that  posterity  will  recognize  with  gratitude.  The  illustrations 
of  the  book  are  interesting,  and  the  type  is  clear." — New  York  Times. 

"  The  adventures  are  simply  told,  but  some  of  them  are  thrilling  of  necessity,  how- 
ever modestly  the  narrator  does  his  work.  Prof.  Dyche  has  had  about  as  many  expe- 
riences in  the  way  of  hunting  f  >r  science  as  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  mcst  fortunate,  and 
this  recountal  of  them  is  most  interesting.  The  camps  from  which  he  worked  ranged 
from  the  Lake  of  the  Woods  to  Arizona,  and  northwest  to  British  Columbia,  and  in 
every  region  he  was  successful  in  securing  rare  specimens  for  his  museum." — Chicago 
Times. 

"The  literary  construction  is  refreshing  The  reader  is  carried  into  the  midst  of 
the  very  scenes  of  which  th^  author  tells,  not  by  elaborateness  of  description  but  by  the 
directness  and  vividness  of  every  sentence,  He  is  given  no  opportunity  to  abandon 
the  companions  with  which  the  book  his  provided  him,  for  incident  is  made  to  follow 
incident  with  no  intervening  literary  padding.  In  fact,  the  book  is  all  action. "—Kansas 
City  Journal. 

"  As  an  outdoor  book  of  camping  and  hunting  this  book  possesses  a  timely 
interest,  but  it  also  has  the  merit  of  scientific  exactness  in  the  descriptions  of  the 
habits,  peculiarities,  and  haunts  of  wild  animals." — 1'kiladelfhia  Press. 

"  But  what  is  most  important  of  all  in  a  narrative  of  this  kind— for  it  seems  to  us 
that  'Camp-Fires  of  a  Naturalist*  was  written  first  of  all  for  entertainment— these 
notes  neither  have  been  '  dressed  up '  and  their  accuracy  thereby  impaired,  nor  yet  re- 
tailed in  a  dry  and  statistical  manner.  The  book,  in  a  word,  is  a  plain  narrative  of 
adventures  among  the  larger  American  animals." — Philadelphia.  Bulletin. 

"  We  recommend  it  most  heartily  to  old  and  young  alike,  and  suggest  it  as  a  beauti- 
ful souvenir  volume  for  those  who  have  seen  the  wonderful  display  of  mounted  animals 
at  the  World's  Fair."—  Topeka  Capital. 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  I,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


H 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


YPNOTISM,    MESMERISM,    AND    THE 

NEW  WITCHCRAFT.  By  ERNEST  HART,  formerly  Sur- 
geon to  the  West  London  Hospital,  and  Ophthalmic  Surgeon 
to  St.  Mary's  Hospital,  London.  With  20  Illustrations.  I2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Dr.  Hart  is  not  an  enemy  of  the  spiritual,  but  he  gives  ground  to  neither  the 
supernatural  nor  the  preternatural  when  he  can  help  it.  His  state  of  mind  is  generally 
impartial."—  Chicago  Post. 

"  Mr.  Hart  holds  it  as  proved  beyond  all  reasonable  doubt  that  the  hypnotic  con- 
dition is  an  admitted  clinical  fact,  and  declares  that  the  practice  of  hypnotism,  except 
by  skilled  physicians,  should  be  forbidden.  He  affirms  its  therapeutic  uselessness,  and 
condemns  the  practice  because  of  ihe  possibilities  of  social  mischiefs.  .  .  .  His  per- 
sonal experiences  in  the  '  New  Witchcraft '  enable  him  to  exercise  a  critical  check  on 
the  wild  theories  and  unsupported  assertions  of  others." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

MESMERISM,    SPIRITUALISM,    ETC.,   HIS- 

1V1  TORICALLY  AND  SCIENTIFICALLY  CONSID- 
ERED. By  WILLIAM  B.  CARPENTER,  M.  D.,  F.  R.  S.  I2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.25. 

' '  The  reader  of  these  lectures  will  see  that  my  whole  aim  is  to  discover, 
on  the  generally  accepted  principles  of  testimony,  what  are  facts  ;  and  to 
discriminate  between  facts  and  the  inferences  drawn  ficm  them.  I  have  no 
other  '  theory  '  to  support  than  that  of  the  constancy  of  the  well-ascertained 
laws  of  Nature." — From  the  Preface. 

PRINCIPLES  OF  MENTAL  PHYSIOLOGY. 
With  their  Application  to  the  Training  and  Discipline  of  the 
Mind,  and  the  Study  of  its  Morbid  Conditions.  By  WILLIAM 
B.  CARPENTER,  M.  D.,  F.  R  S.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $3.00. 

"  Among  the  numerous  eminent  writers  this  country  has  produced  none  are  more 
deserving  of  praise  for  having  attempted  to  apply  the  results  of  physiological  research 
to  the  explanation  of  the  mutual  relations  of  the  mind  and  bod>  than  L>r.  Carpenter." 
— London  Lancet. 

A  TURE  AND  MAN :  Essays,  Scientific  and 
Philosophical.  By  WILLIAM  B.  CARPENTER,  M.  D.,  F.  R.  S. 
With  an  Introductory'  Memoir  by  J.  ESTLIN  CARPENTER,  M.  A., 
and  a  Portrait.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $2.25. 

•'  Few  works  could  be  mentioned  that  give  a  better  general  view  of  the  change  that 
has  been  wrought  in  men's  conceptions  of  life  and  Nature.  For  this,  if  for  nothing 
else  the  collection  would  be  valuable.  But  it  will  be  welcomed  also  as  a  kind  of 
biography  of  its  author,  for  the  essays  and  the  memoir  support  one  another  and  are 
mutually  illuminative. " — Scotsman. 

"  Mr.  Estlin  Carpen'er's  memoir  of  his  father  is  just  what  such  a  memoir  should  be 
— a  simple  record  of  a  life  uneventful  in  itself,  whose  interest  for  us  lies  mainly  in  the 
nature  of  the  intellectual  task  so  early  undertaken,  so  strenuously  carried  on,  so 
ample  an.!  nobly  accomplished,  to  which  it  was  devoted." — London  Spectator. 

New  York .   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


P 


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D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


STORY  OF  MY  LIFE.  By  GEORG  EBERS, 
author  of  "  Uarda,"  "  An  Egyptian  Princess,"  "  A  Thorny  Path," 
etc.  With  Portraits.  i6mo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 

For  many  years  Dr.  Ebers  has  kept  his  hold  upon  the  reading  public  and 
has  strengthened  it  with  every  book.  But  the  personality  of  this  creator  of 
the  romance  of  the  past  has  until  now  been  veiled.  The  author  here  tells  of 
his  student  life  in  Germany,  his  association  with  movements  like  that  for 
the  establishment  of  kindergarten  training,  his  acquaintance  with  men  like 
Froabel  and  the  brothers  Grimm,  his  experiences  in  the  revolutionary 
period,  his  interest  in  Egyptology  and  the  history  of  ancient  Greece  and 
Rome,  and  the  beginnings  of  his  literary  career.  It  is  a  book  of  historical 
as  well  as  personal  interest. 

"  It  is  written  with  a  charming  frankness  that  is  peculiarly  German,  and  an  appre- 
ciation of  the  incidents  of  his  life  that  is  peculiar  to  the  novelist.  Few  of  his  stories 
afford  more  agreeable  reading."  —  New  York  Critic. 

"  To  those  who  know  Dr.  Ebers  chiefly  as  an  Egyptologist,  and  whose  interest 
lies  in  his  imaginative  work,  the  early  chapters  of  this  autobiography  will  prove  a 
source  of  illumination,  for  it  is  in  them  that  we  are  let  into  the  secrets  of  those  experi- 
ences which  not  only  molded  his  character,  but  were  potent  in  shaping  the  bent  of  his 
mind."  —  Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin, 

"  One  of  the  most  delightful  books  which  Georg  Ebers,  the  German  Egyptologist 
and  novelist,  has  written,  and  this  is  saying  a  great  deal.  ...  It  is  the  picture  of  the 
life  of  a  bright,  active,  happy  boy  in  a  German  home  of  the  most  worthy  sort,  and  at 
German  schools  mostly  of  conspicuous  excellence.  There  is  neither  undue  frankness 
nor  superfluous  reticence,  but  the  things  which  one  wishes  to  be  told  are  recorded 
naturally  and  entertainingly."  —  Boston  Congregatianalist. 


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BRONTES    IN    IRELAND.     By  Dr.  WIL- 
LIAM WRIGHT.     I2mo.    Cloth. 

This  book  presents  a  new  and  thrilling  page  in  the  family  history  of  the 
Bronte  sisters.  It  tells  of  foundling  and  the  evil  which  he  wrought  to  his 
benefactors  ;  of  an  innocent  child  taken  from  his  family,  whom  he  never 
saw  again,  to  a  life  of  slavery  ;  of  the  Homeric  battles  of  Irish  peasantry  ; 
and  it  pictures  Charlotte  Bronte's  uncle  as  he  prepared  a  new  blackthorn 
and  crossed  to  England  to  wreak  Irish  vengeance  upon  a  malicious 
reviewer  of  "  Jane  Eyre."  It  is  a  book  of  absorbing  interest. 

PERSONAL  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  WERNER 
VON  SIEMENS.  Translated  by  W.  C.  COUPLANIX  8vo. 
Cloth. 

In  two  very  different  fields—  the  application  of  heat  and  the  application 
of  electricity  —  Herr  von  Siemens  gained  pre-eminent  distinction  by  his  rare 
combination  of  scientific  insight  and  power  of  practical  utilization  of  his 
knowledge.  It  was  he  —  although  Wheatstone  and  Varley's  discoveries  were 
simultaneous  —  who  invented  the  dynamo-electric  machine  which  became  the 
basis  of  the  modern  Siemens-dynamo  developed  by  Edison,  Hopkinson,  and 
others.  He  designed  the  ocean-cable  ship  Faraday  ;  an  electric  railway, 
and  an  electric  furnace  were  among  others  of  his  inventions  ;  and  in  this 
day  of  electrical  progress  the  autobiography  of  this  great  electrician  will 
possess  a  pertinent  and  exceptional  interest. 

New  York:    D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


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